


Family Secrets

by Joanna_Lee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Age Difference, Alpha Castiel, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Porn, Ass Play, Bottom Sam, Breastfeeding, Crossdressing, Crying Sam, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Guilty Sam, Husband Cas, Infidelity, Insecure Sam, Jealous Dean, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Male Slash, Manipulation, Married Couple, Mpreg, NSFW Art, Non-Hunter Winchesters, Not all warnings listed, Omega Sam, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panty Kink, Parent/Child Incest, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post Mpreg, Read at Own Risk, References to Dean/Other(s), Rhonda Hurley - Freeform, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sam In Panties, Self-Lubrication, Slow Burn, Somnophilia, Teen Angst, Top Castiel, Underage Kissing, Voyeurism, Wife Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 102,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanna_Lee/pseuds/Joanna_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha Cas and Omega Sam marry young and bear two children. When their oldest son Dean presents as an Alpha, however, he starts perving on Sam, the 'mother' who bore him, developing incestuous feelings for him and becoming territorial and possessive. </p><p>When Cas, the dad and prime Alpha, is not around, Dean seduces Sam, manipulating him into slowly giving in to him and Sam can barely resist his son. When he turns 16, Dean finally fucks his mommy.</p><p>Genre: Drama, romance, porn with (lots of) feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pushing the envelope

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ - important additional warnings (7-9) included:
> 
> 1) This is a WIP. Also my first SPN Kink Meme fill :)
> 
> 2) OP is much longer, more detailed. I use an edited version.
> 
> 3) Dean is 12 when this begins. Sam is 31, and Cas is 34. The story progresses until Dean is an adult.
> 
> 4) Age of consent here is 16.
> 
> 5) This AU has its own set of morality and ethics. 
> 
> 6) Besides plenty of smut and porn, expect lots of angst, hurt and drama. This is NOT a fluffy read.
> 
> 7) To avoid spoilers and because this is a super long WIP (I don't plan everything far in advance), tags will continue to be updated as the story progresses. Please read the tags carefully, and review them before diving into new chapters.
> 
> 8) Most importantly, not all warnings are listed. When push comes to shove, I might not tag some major things to avoid spoilers. So only read at your own risk!
> 
> 9) Sensitive subjects are addressed in this story, so if you're easily triggered, please turn back now.

Dean first becomes aware of his mom's influence on him a few months before he pops his knot at 12—ridiculously young by alpha standards, where some present as old as 19 but more generally around 14. Leading up to his rut, Dean's senses have become stronger and in turn, scents around him more potent. His 'little Dean' became easily excitable. 

He’s an early bloomer and it made his father proud. Not that Dean could take credit for it; it wasn’t like he could control his sexual gender or will his knot into existence, but he couldn't help feeling elated at being the pride of his father, Castiel.

Sure, Castiel is anything but a knot-head, or an old-fashioned "pack leader" (which is an outdated 'wolf-country' term traditionally given to family providers, or the head alphas of a house). But who isn’t at least a little glad when their son presents as a dominant? It's primal nature.

Dean's dad isn't exactly traditional but he's an alpha alright: strong, driven, opinionated, territorial, a little jealous, overprotective, somewhat overbearing, "the husband" in this house, but also a solid presence for his family. So yeah, in true alpha fashion, Castiel couldn't help being happy when his first son turned out to be like him, and Dean innately knows it.

Castiel does believe in discipline, being the head of his household, and he respects Alpha-Omega roles, but he is usually neither strict about them nor half as brutal enforcing them as the typical alpha. He never denies his or his wife Sam's nature, but he doesn't define either himself or Sam by it. For instance, he never barks orders at Sam, or patronises Sam, or attempts to humiliate him to show him who's boss, or asks too much of him that he couldn't give, but he does put his foot down when it’s called for.

As far as Dean knows, Cas never forces his mommy into sex if Sam doesn't feel like it, and, for that matter, he never pushes him to bear many children as per alpha tradition.

After Dean was born, a little more than a year into their marriage, Sam wanted to give his body a long break and Castiel indulged him, without argument—another thing that separates Castiel from regular, traditional alphas, who more often than not force their wives to pop babies, health concerns notwithstanding.

Castiel didn't even flinch when a relative suggested that, as far as alphas go, Castiel is too pliant toward his omega. The comment would enrage a prototypical alpha. Castiel just chuckled and didn't even deny it.

Part of it, Dean thinks, might be because his father and mother are actually in love. Hopelessly so, from the looks of it. Childhood sweethearts and all that. They got married in their late teens and never separated since. In this society, that's not how alphas and omegas typically get together; they usually get betrothed or engaged through business-like deals and, the marriage is either arranged by the families, or happens in response to a purely physical, earthly attraction (someone's heat aligns with another's rut and that's that).

More often than not, alphas and omegas get well acquainted after marriage, not before. Not Sam and Castiel.

Their love was nurtured over the years, and well before moving in together each had already known what made the other tick. Dean could swear they talked with their eyes sometimes, and that's why, for instance, Castiel rarely uses his alpha voice inside the house, except with his children. Say, when Dean is misbehaving or pulling tantrums, or later on when Dean's little brother Adam grew up into a small beta menace and became hard to control. Only then he'd use his deep alpha voice, usually in warning, a scare tactic. Otherwise, Cas never needs to force his way.

In short, Cas is a reasonable, loving husband and a doting father. In many ways, he’s just perfect.

But that doesn't stop Dean from feeling some resentment for him when he himself starts getting interested in mommy _that_ way.

It doesn't stop Dean from trying to dethrone his dad, either, later on, when his Alpha nature rears its ugly head. But that doesn't happen until much later — perhaps a few years from now, when things get - uhm- complicated.

Now, even Dean doesn't realize how far this thing - _these_ _feelings_ \- will one day take him, how aggressively it will consume him and scar his relationship with his parents for good. Now, he's just mesmerized by his tall, built, tanned and beautiful mommy. Obsessed with how his scent makes his stomach tingle and makes him feel funny between his legs. Right now, Sam is slowly becoming his world. _Castiel's_ c _laiming_ _rights be damned_ , Dean thinks.

It was Sam's scent that caught Dean's attention first and drew him closer. It started to permeate strongly right after Sam gave birth to his brother Adam. Dean would sit beside his mom as Adam nursed from him, and bask in the delicately warm smell of his beautiful Sammy. Whiffs of cinnamon, milk, this thing that's pure omega; his mommy smelled like summer and freshly baked pie, and sex! Dean couldn't help but lean into the smell every time it tickled his senses. He'd put his head on mommy's right arm and watch Adam suckle on one of his round full breasts - now lactating and engorged thanks to his baby brother.

These days, he gets drunk on the proximity.

Right now, for instance, they're sprawled on the living room's sofa. Sam is feeding Adam and Dean is glued to his side. It's a hot summer afternoon. His mommy's sweaty. His long hair - perspired and damp - is sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. His t-shirt is bunched up on one side, and one pair of boobs is leaking out of his sports bra, one dark perky nipple engulfed by his baby brother's small mouth. Sam's soft belly, still marred by stretch marks, is bare, and Dean can see the beginning of the dark treasure trail that runs from Sam's navel down to his groin, hidden under the thin fabric of his sleep pants. The threadbare pants sit low on his hips and reveal a glimpse of Sam's plain white briefs. Dean's eyes keep flickering hungrily from one part to another. He wishes he could just lean forward and kiss the bare skin, but he doesn't have the courage, not yet. He settles for laying one hand on Sam's thigh, the one currently brushing his. Just a small casual move.

First his hand lies nearer to Sam's knees, then he slowly moves it up. Sam's eyes are closed; he's visibly tired, he's had a long day and Cas is at work, so he's taking care of a newborn and Dean on his own during the day. _Better for me_ , Dean thinks, _more alone time with mommy._

He shifts his hand up a little more and now Dean's hand is comfortably lying on top of Sam's thigh, next to his groin. Dean’s very aware of this. His heart starts drumming a little faster, like he's scheming or something. And on some level, he is.

Only a few months back, Dean used to shrug mommy's constant affections, often wriggled away when Sam kissed his cheeks or tried to hug him. After he turned nine, Dean had become self-conscious about receiving any affection that made him feel like he was being babied - more so in front of his school friends and his best friend Benny. He remembers being horrified when his mother would swoop down on him and give him a kiss on the forehead or on the cheek when he'd drop him off to school. A few months back, that was out of the question. He'd huff and puff and turn his head away to escape said kisses. Then lecture mom about it after school, tell him he embarrasses him (his mom would sometimes be amused, other times a little pained he and his boy seem to be growing apart. Dean is the apple of his eye, he'd want to keep him close to himself, in his arms, forever ... if he could) - well, Dean would only lecture when Castiel wasn’t in earshot. He had to be always careful with this. Sam was the soft parent. Cas doesn't tolerate attitude, more so when it's directed at his Sammy.

When he turned 11, it was worse. Instead of spending time with mommy and his dad, he'd run to his room after school and only come out to use the restroom or eat. Or he would go out with his friends. He wanted his space, he told Sam. He spent less and less time with him and his other parent. At the beginning, Sam would try to coax him out, drag him to the living room to force them to spend some more time together, or offer to take him to the movies (Dean was adamant not to be seen going out and about with his mom. Made it a point. He's grown up, now. _What if any of my friends see him? What kind of a loser goes to see a movie with his mom?_ ). In desperation, Sam would demand that Dean helped with meal preparations or in cleaning up the house sometimes just to get Dean to leave his cocoon and spend time with him. It used to make Dean furious sometimes, and make Sam feel guilty for being too clingy himself.

Now? Now, any physical contact with his mommy leaves Dean breathing hard, and makes him warm inside. He's now always aware of where his mom's body is touching his when they're sitting side by side, or when his head is cradled in his lap when they're all sitting together watching TV, or when Sam pats a cheek, or runs his fingers through his hair - which happens rarely since he’d complained about it in the past. "Stop it, I'm not a kid," he had once mumbled in annoyance and brushed Sam's hand off. It was one of those times that Sam had ruffled his hair lovingly. At the time, Dean was playing a video game, engrossed in it, and hadn’t welcomed the distraction - or the touching. Again, that was only a month earlier. Oh, how things changed. Dean sighs and decides to concentrate on the present moment.

"Are you hurting, mommy?" Dean looks up at Sammy, and asks through half-lidded eyes, noticing now that his mom is still laying his head against the back of the couch, eyes shut.

"No, sweetheart, just tired," Sammy responds. He lifts his head up and looks down at his son, smiling. His dimples show.

"Mommy, I love your smile," Dean says, romancing.

He sometimes gets caught up in how beautiful his Sammy looks, like now. He kneads Sam's thigh, curling his hand around, shifting it more to the inside of Sam's thigh. Now the tips of his fingers can barely touch Sam's flaccid length. _He can feel it_ , a shiver runs through him at the thought. "It's like sunshine," he elaborates.

Sam is a little surprised yet amused, not used to his son being so openly affectionate. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," he says, staring right into Sam's tired hazel-green eyes. His mind is where his hand is, right now. He strokes his thumb back and forth, lightly; he's sure this is Sam's cock he's brushing against, but his touch is so light it's almost non-existent. "Mommy, do you need me to help you with anything? You know, dad's not here, and you look drained."

Sam chuckles. "Ok, now I'm a little freaked. Who are you and what have you done with my son?" Then he winces, "oww!" it seems Adam bit his nipple a little. Sammy sits up abruptly, and puts a finger in Adam's mouth to force him to release the abused nipple. Dean looks at the puffy red and wet bud, and feels a rush of jealousy that Adam gets a taste of the delicious-looking tit and he doesn't. He understands Adam needs this but he can't help the surge of jealousy, _Goddammit!_ Sammy tucks this side in, hiding it away, and takes the other boob out.

When he was dislodged from the source of nourishment, Adam gave an ear-piercing squeal that didn't die out until mommy rearranged him and he latched back on, humming contentedly around the breast. Sam finally sits back and Dean lays his head against his shoulder again, now getting more space on Sam's chest when this side is baby-free.

Without thinking, Dean reaches out and touches around where Adam's lips are stretched around Sam's areola. His touch lingers. He wishes he could put a finger in Adam's mouth and touch his mom's nipple, feel the ducts from where the milk is sucked out. But he holds back. "Does it always hurt badly, when he nurses?" Dean asks. He's aware he sounds like a six-year-old. But that's the thing: his new feelings for his mommy made him regress in some ways but feel older, more entitled, in others.

"It’s only painful when he bites, but I'm sure you know it's not on purpose, sweetheart. He's just trying to force out more milk," Sam responds. Dean feels like moaning; he wishes he was the one suckling on the teet, biting lightly, drinking up Sam's sweet juice, feeding from one side, and petting the other, but he holds it in. A pause. Then Sam asks, "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "Just feel a little sorry for you." Sam momentarily pushes away Dean when he moves his right arm, only to curl it around his son and pull him snuggly against him.

"Hey, where is this coming from, De?" Sam says, brows cinched yet his silky voice drips with mommy-warmth.

"It's just that ... just, you know. A baby is a lot of work is all. And other moms ... I mean, you're—you always look worn out these days. It makes me, it just—" he huffs, not knowing what to say.

Sam gives him a squeeze, then, "Dean, buddy, look at me." He does. "You're right, it's a lot of work. But I love every bit of it. You and Adam, you're everything, and I'm so happy to have been blessed with you. I may be tired, and sure a child takes its toll on the body. Every man or woman is different and it's somewhat harder on me. I happen to struggle a little after giving birth. But I chose this. And I'm the happiest person on Earth right now. Besides, your dad helps a lot, and just knowing you feel for mommy helps too, you know." Sam smiles then kisses Dean's forehead tenderly, and this time Dean doesn't push him away. Instead, he leans in and places a soft peck on the side of mommy's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art: © Joanna Lee
> 
> It's original, created by yours truly. Kindly don’t repost the art or re-use it. 
> 
> Thank you! <3


	2. DressGate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long and short of it? Dean buys mommy a dress. 
> 
> In this part, Dean is now 13 years old. 
> 
> For those who missed the first installment, this is the story so far: Pre-teen Alpha Dean is developing a physical attraction towards his mommy, Omega Sam. And he's slowly acting on it; getting more affectionate, attentive and physically intimate with Sam. Both Sam and his husband Cas - Dean's father - are oblivious to Dean's incestuous tendencies. 
> 
> But Sam, every bit the over-attached mother to Dean and his little brother Adam, welcomes his son's increasing displays of love, never doubting the motives. 
> 
> (Better read chapter 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read OP for context.

It's Mother's Day and Dean Winchester is nervous as hell about his gift for his mommy. Usually, he and his dad go out and shop for presents together. Dean is normally nonchalant about the whole thing, going for easy options: the "magical" combo of flowers and cards, a foreign movie on DVD and a card, or the easiest Mother's Day gift-giving hack of all: cooking books. On principle, he refuses to buy music for his mommy, no way in hell he'd encourage Sam's highly questionable tastes there. But he can grit his teeth and indulge his book-smart mom in other areas. And thankfully, Sam is always easy to please. Dean is sure that if he ends up getting his mommy deodorant and shaving cream on Mother's Day, the man would still smile big, coo at him, take him in his arms, and cover his face with kisses - not that he's complaining, especially not about the kissing. Not anymore, at least.

 _I mean, those lips,_ Dean muses.

Last year, Dean bought Sam a series of hardcover books on WWI. His mother is a bit of a nerd and loves history books. It also served as a pastime on those long nights when Sam was up helping a very upset baby Adam return to sleep. They work during the day, too. More than once Dean would hear Sam read parts of those books out loud to Adam, who seems to have inherited the geek genes, perking up to the sound. Adam even reacts to the words - well, the tone of the words—knitting his brows in concentration or frowning in this hilariously cute way, or cooing. Sam thinks it's adorable. Dean thinks it's just plain sad, _I'll definitely be outnumbered when Adam grows up and starts making potato batteries ... for fun!_ Sigh.

But this year ... this year is different.

Ever since this _thing_ between his mom and him started growing, things like birthdays and Mother’s Day celebrations have taken on a certain significance for Dean. So far the sexual tension has been one-sided. Dean isn’t stupid; he's not disillusioned about how his mom feels about him. Sure, Sam doesn't just care about him, he friggin' worships the ground Dean walks on! He loves him, alright. But not in _this_ way. _Not yet_ , Dean tells himself.

He's still the little Alpha of the family (despite the fact that he's becoming stronger, taller, and erm, bigger, _everywhere_ ). Castiel, his dad, is still boss, and until now, he's the only one that puts that shine in mommy's eyes. He's the one that makes him melt and swoon. He can lock lips with Sam anywhere and people wouldn't think twice of it. He can lick Sam's lips, plunder his mouth, get Sam off—he can watch Sam strip, he can take showers with Sam, he can sit him between his legs and touch him all over. He can touch Sam in places Dean can only _dream_ about. He's the one who takes Sam to bed every night, sometimes locks the door, locks the rest of the world out (including Dean) and takes Sam apart slowly, or mounts him and pounds into him if he chooses. He can take Sam on all fours, on his back, on his side, put him on his lap, or blanket him chest to back and fuck him into the mattress. Sometimes the muffled moans filter through the doors. Dean would hide under the pillow, because even those soft reminders of how Sam and Castiel are to each other ( _that you Dean is not, may never be_ ) sucked.

No matter how much Sam loves Dean, Dean is barred from seeing or feeling his mommy this way.

Dean feels a darkness spread inside his chest at the thought, gripping his lungs and squeezing the air out. He hates it. He fuckin' hates that someone else gets to do this to his mommy. Gets to whisper love words in his ears, gets to talk dirty to him, gets to wake up every morning next to him, touch him, make love to him ... when he's _his_. Dean's. His heart is his. His hair is his. His eyes, his lips ... his tits, cock and asshole are his. Every bit of him from head to toe is Dean's. One day Dean may be able to make him understand that Dean was born out of his own womb, into this world, to claim him. That, without realising, Sam gave birth to his true mate. It's what it is.

For now, Dean will settle for the stolen touches.

And this. The dress.

Dean has saved up from his own pocket money and picked it out of hundreds. Sure, by the end of every shopping trip, he felt he was ready to grow lady parts; it was both frustrating (strolling through the women sections in malls or department stores) and exciting (the excitement comes just from the thought that his mom might humour him, and actually wear it. Might enjoy wearing it. For him. Because Dean is the one got it, for Sammy).

His mom never wears dresses. He sticks to t-shirts, button-ups, sweaters, hoodies, jeans, and the occasional dress pants. When he's lactating and his boobs have grown to a considerable size, somewhere between a B- and a C-cup, he wears sports bras or those plain-looking white or beige halter tops, with supporting bras, tailor-made for male omegas. Ugly things, if you ask Dean.

Dean’s also seen Sam's collection of underwear when he helped him fold laundry a few times. It was clear not much thought was put into the purchases: all whites, greys and blacks and mostly boxer briefs and shorts with some threadbare pouch briefs, which Dean will admit made his breath hitch and his heart race a little when he imagined how the "pouch" would probably cradle Sam's length, how his mother's soft genitals would sit snugly in it, and jiggle some when he moves, how his prick will tent and stretch the thin material when he's aroused.

But apart from those briefs, or more likely the obscene thoughts they illicit in Dean, nothing in his mother's wardrobe is skimpy or remotely feminine, which is unfair considering how delicious his mommy is. He’s never seen his mommy buck naked but he's seen him in swimming trunks, and the man is all long legs. He has solidly muscled arms and back, wide shoulders, and a killer pair of rippling pecs that bounce around when Sam is braless and lactating (He flaunts them only when they're on a private beach. Cas refuses to let Sam go shirtless in public and Dean backs him up on this). And the package is all the more gorgeous when his mommy's skin is sun-kissed and glowing.

To be clear, there's nothing soft about his mother's body, except perhaps his belly and breasts post child-bearing. But unlike Dean, who's already packing solid muscles, and some bulk and hard edges thanks to his self-inflicted brutal workout regimen and boxing training, Sam's body is strong but exudes a certain vulnerability, like it can be bent to someone's will, like it needs to be treated with care or it breaks, something that tickles the protective instinct of an alpha.

This body needs to be treated right, Dean believes. It needs to be wrapped up in silk, and lace, and sexy lingerie - the masculine accentuated by a feminine touch.

Hence the dress, which Dean hopes will be the first of many Sam ends up owning.

Dean chose a white number, a backless cotton summer dress, long. Hugs the torso and then flares out, and it's held up by a pair of criss-cross thin straps. It boasts a long slit in the front, which is most of the reason why Dean picked this one. The material is soft and it looks comfy. For a first-time crossdresser, Dean thinks it isn't very revealing, if you discount the open back. Dean hopes Sam will discount it.

Part of him feels Castiel might actually encourage it, but he doesn't know how he feels about this. Sure, it'll give Sam a better motive to wear it if Castiel likes it, he reasons, still, Dean wants Sam to wear it for him, not for his father.

He bought it a day earlier but goes out on Mother's Day to wrap it up nicely. He even includes a card and all, with a message that begins with, "To my beautiful," and ends with "Love, Dean." Dean rarely uses words like love. He doesn't know how, despite growing up in a very loving environment, and with an openly affectionate mother. Somehow he's just not built to wear his heart on his sleeve-

... but for his mommy, he could learn to. Anything for him, _his_ Sammy.

When he gets home, he doesn't waste time. He finds mommy at the kitchen table and practically throws the wrapped gift in front of him from how nervous he is (mumbling a barely audible "h-happy Mother's Day"). _Way to go Dean_ , he thinks, _nothing says confident, fearless Alpha like stuttering through your greeting and sweating bullets as you do._ He's only 13 and has girls - omegas and betas, strangers and friends alike - eating out of his hands at school. Older girls, younger girls, even teachers. But at home, with the man he loves and lusts after, with the man who friggin' raised him, he's a pitiful mess of nerves.

His mom's face brightens up when the gift falls with a light thud into his lap.

And Castiel chooses this moment to walk into the room.

With Dad around, Dean generally holds back his affections, tenses a little. No romancing the mommy, touching, tickling, staring longingly in his eyes a few seconds too long, laying his mommy's head in his lap and swirling his fingers through his soft locks as he tells him about his day, or slipping an arm around his waist as he washes the dishes, standing on tiptoe and whispering to Sam softly, right in his ears, nuzzling his neck or kissing his cheek. And Dean would do it all, but not around daddy. He might notice and wonder.

So Dean consciously edits himself. He now squares his shoulders, slips his hands into his pockets, leans back against the kitchen counter and tries to chill a little. Latches that smug smile to his face, ready for wise-cracking if the situation calls for it.

"Hey buddy."

He gets a pat on the shoulder. "Hi, dad," he responds.

"You're in time to see what Dean got me for Mother's Day," Sam says, all smiles already, happy energy oozing off of him. "I was just about to unwrap it."

"Let's see. Not more books, huh Dean?" Castiel asks.

"What? And listen to mom read them out loud for the whole house? No way, learned my lesson, dude."

"Hey, they're educational!" Sam protests as Cas begins, "don't dude me, kiddo!" They both continue speaking over each other, tumbling through their words like they often do. It reminds Dean of when he was younger. "You'll thank me when you're in high school, acing history exams," Sam says. "I'm your dad. If you were born a decade earlier, you'd be calling me sir," Cas adds, half-serious of course. Yeah, right. _Sir_. Castiel is not that kind of dad, period, not now or three centuries earlier. _He's a cool dad_ , Dean admits in his head.

"Woah!" Dean chuckles at how they're speaking over each other. "Whatever, just open it, mom."

Sam does. The surprise on his parents faces is fleeting; Sam’s is immediately replaced with confusion. Castiel looks cautiously entertained. Looks like the subject of dresses has been broached before, Dean theorises in his head, and been shot down if mommy's very manly wardrobe is any indication.

Sam unfolds the dress and holds it away to take a good look at it. He clears his throat. "It's an interesting choice, Dean." He doesn't comment on it further, and Dean while senses Sam might now be flustered, his mommy is mostly unreadable.

"Well, good luck getting him to wear that," Castiel says with a shadow of a smirk. Sam glares at him, outright _glares_ at him. Not good. This totally throws Dean off.

In truth, he expected Sam to laugh out loud, then, after some face-saving banter and some struggling, agree to wear it, because it's Dean's gift and he loves Dean.

He was even prepared for a little rebellion, after which he was ready to playfully challenge Sammy to wear it, "To prove you're confident in your masculinity, mom!" Sam always rises up to challenges; it's how his mommy's built.

At least Dean was _praying_ for either of these scenarios. He was practically dying to see his mommy all dolled up in this dress.

But the situation, though initially cheerful, is gaining this strange intensity, fast.

"You don't like it?" Dean asks, now pouting a little.

He doesn't get an answer immediately, so he adds: "I can return it and get you something else." There’s a too-sullen edge to his words. _Be cool_ , _Dean_ , a voice in his head says.

But this is going sideways on Dean, very quickly. He's not amused.

The pout yields the desired effect, since Sam sighs and backtracks to his happy-self, mostly. "Sweetheart, I didn't say I don't like it. I-I do."

"Of course you do," Dean says, still sullen and prickly around the edges. It’s clear that Sam doesn’t like the gift.

Sam sighs again.

"It's just, it's not _me_ , Dean. You know your mom. I never wear dresses. I'm not going to start now."

"Why not?" Dean shoots back.

"It's not who I am."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not fond of them," Sam says, choosing his words carefully.

"What's wrong with dresses?"

Castiel, who has so far been on the sidelines, interjects. "There's nothing wrong with them, De. It's just that your mom isn’t comfortable wearing them. And believe me, Sam and I have discussed it before."

"Mom's an omega," Dean says with a hint of a growl, like Sam's challenging him by arguing his choice of gift, like Dean's being rejected, not the dress. Like Sam rejects both him, _and_ his own omega status. _Why can't he just own up to it and act like a regular omega?_ Now that he thinks of it, his mommy—thanks to Castiel's lax discipline—is very beta _._ The realisation hits Dean and it annoys him something bad.

Also, if Sam once discussed dresses openly with his dad, he can discuss it with Dean. He's not a child. He can have a proper conversation about this like the adult that he is. But for this conversation to happen, Sam has to be open about it, not clam up like he's doing now ... like Dean's a stranger. _It's insulting_ , Dean thinks.

"A lot of omega men wear dresses!" he adds, for emphasis.

Now this comment seems to irk Sam. "Well, Dean, I'm not like a lot of Omega men," Sam responds sharply, his voice getting louder, a vein in his neck throbbing and the tone makes Dean flinch.

Silence.

Sam shakes his head, like he's quickly reprimanding himself for the small near-outburst. He takes a deep breath again, and a small smile quirks his lips. "Hey, Dean sweetie, you didn't know I hat'em. And it's a lovely gift, if it weren't for me." _Shit_ , Sam thinks, _I'm making it worse_. _Pull yourself together Sam_. He quickly adds, "We're not returning it. Even if I know I'm not gonna wear it, I'm keeping it if it means so much to you."

 _Who said anything about it meaning so much to me_ , Dean thinks stubbornly. Deep inside, he knows he's just furious he got figured out. He's fuming now, burning hot inside, but as per Dean, manages to project a different veneer and turn cold on the outside. "Keep it or don't. I don't care," he says.

"For a child-bearing omega," He might as well. _In_ _for a penny_ ... "who breastfeeds, whose kids call mommy," _who gets dripping wet between his legs in heat, who gets fucked on his back, who moans pretty like a girl ..._ He thinks it but doesn't say it, if only for Castiel's benefit. "You sure as _hell_ are picky about what to wear."

If Sam's in denial of his own nature, Dean's not. He knows well what his mom is. Dean pushes away from the counter he was leaning on and starts walking away.

"Dean," Castiel calls firmly. His voice takes on a much darker shade now, all earlier amusement gone. Dean stops and turns, slowly, staring back steadily at his dad, and barely masking his displeasure.

"Behave, or I'll _make_ you.” He steps forwards, seeming to loom over Dean, “Why are _you_ taking this so close to heart? This is your mother’s choice. You should respect it. I do, and _I'm_ the husband between us. _The a_ lpha here."

"Yeah," Dean says, looking away. _You are_. He just wants them both out of his sight right now.

More silence. Castiel shifts back on his feet a little, as if remembering Dean’s only thirteen and still a kid.

"Come on, De," Castiel huffs.

"Don't call me that," he hisses back.

"You're being childish," Castiel says, recognising all the signs that his son is erecting walls around himself, clamming up.

Dean gaze turns colder, if possible, and he just stands there, waiting to be dismissed.

"Okay," Castiel says, a moment later, scrubbing a hand across his face. When Dean’s like this, it’s a lost cause. "You're not off the hook. We'll discuss your behaviour later. I have some work to finish."

At thirteen, his kid is too old for spanking, and Cas doesn't enjoy giving it but if he has to, he'll do it; but not now, maybe tonight. He'll talk to Sam first. He normally knows better than to consult Sam on corporal punishment for discipline, but, knowing his wife, Sam might be more hurt that he's letting on at the moment, and so might green light it afterall.

Sam will have the final word on this, Cas decides, only this time.

This alpha-omega talk has made Sam's head spin. It’s always been his least favorite subject, and he won't lie, it hurts to be referred by his son as an omega with such _disdain_. Like he's a thing. Like his choices and likes and whims should be dictated by his biology, not who he is beyond that. Sam has lived most of his life fighting the notion that he's a label, a shell, and that's why he chose Castiel as his mate, besides love, of course. Cas respects his choices.

But Dean? His son is way too young to understand the complexities of it all – the emotional baggage that comes with being an Omega. He was just making a gesture, and according to Castiel, Dean has refused to pick a gift together this year, or to take extra money for one, which means this was special for Dean. Cas spilled the beans on Dean's gift hunt only this morning, out of pride; he wanted Sam to know Dean is making an effort. Of course, Castiel didn't know what Dean was particularly looking for. He just knew the boy wanted to make his own pick, that he's putting some extra thought into it. And judging from how much he's offended, Sam is sure Dean put a lot of thought into this one.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm reacting badly. I shouldn't," Sam finally says, moving towards his son, extending an arm to pull him into a hug. "You meant well, and that's all that matters," he says as he holds Dean. "Thanks sweetie."

Dean doesn't hug back, just stands there passively. "You're not gonna hug mommy back?" Sammy asks sweetly. Sam's gotten used to the growing intimacy between them.

Dean, however, tenses his shoulder, doesn't move.

"Are you done?" Dean asks coolly a moment later from where he’s bundled up in Sam's arms. It's Sam's turn to flinch. He pulls back and whispers, "Yeah," letting his son go. He watches with sad eyes as Dean climb the stairs of their two-story house, probably to hole up in his room.

His son has shut down.

Dean avoids looking back as he withdraws from what he's sure are a pair of misty eyes. He leaves his parents behind. Even he doesn't know how it all went wrong so quickly, but the curling in his gut tells him he's glad to have them out of his sight for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still WIP. Shaping up to be longer than I thought. Story is roughly outlined in my head now, so stay with me :)
> 
> The next chapter is DressGate's aftermath.


	3. Withdrawal effects

It's been a week since DressGate - yup, that's what Dean calls it in his head now, ever since his fantasies of seeing mommy in that dress came crashing down around his ears. Well, a part of him knows he was being a bit of a drama queen about it, but man, he's still _pissed_.

A couple of hours after that kitchen talk that sealed the fate of the white dress, Cas came into Dean's room to talk. Dean's responses to his dad's reprimand ranged from grunts to nods to "yes, sir"s that were laced with a hint of sarcasm _,_ and finally a reluctant ‘acknowledgment’ that, "sure, I was rude" and "yeah, why not? I'll apologize."

His father knew better, of course. Dean was as hardheaded as his mom and as shrewd as his dad. He wasn't ready to be forced into a change of heart about what happened. No, he wasn't budging, that much was crystal clear to Cas, but Dean wasn't too stupid to admit this either and risk getting grounded, or worse, spanked like a child. It was a situation where they mutually agreed to fake it and call it obedience.

So Dean was simply humoring his father, bending with the storm, occasionally giving Castiel what he needed to hear, and Cas was going through the motions too. Earlier, Sam wouldn't hear anything about "a spanking" or enforcing some discipline, being consumed with guilt and convinced he should've just thanked Dean and fake-promised to wear the damn dress so not to hurt his son's feelings like this. Dean would've eventually forgotten the dress existed. He's a teen, Sam reasoned, and teens have the attention spans of goldfish.

In short, Cas knew that he wasn't going to punish his boy per se, but he needed to act the part of the angry dad and chastise his son for his attitude towards his mom to avoid an encore.

But Sam wasn’t the only reason Cas was going a little easy on Dean.

If you pointed a gun to his head and forced him to talk, Cas would’ve reluctantly admitted that he had his own reason: He understood.

A big part of Cas - though mad at the way Dean snapped at his mommy, on _Mother's_ Day of all days - knew where Dean is coming from.

See, not all Alphas are the same; Cas himself is a case in point.

Born and raised in a conservative house, where Alpha-Omega traditions were strictly upheld and his father's word was law, Castiel still grew up to be a liberal, of sorts. He broke ranks with the Winchester's stringent beliefs about what Alpha-Beta-Omega gender roles entitled, and there was nothing his family could do to change his mind. Knowing Sam has helped Cas solidify these liberal tendencies, with Sam being outspoken, especially on Omega rights and their freedom of choice and expression. Both of them frown upon archaic laws that sometimes reduce Omegas to glorified breeding holes and whittle Alphas down to talking knot-obsessed animals. They both reject this picture and their lifestyle is a living proof.

Unlike other Alphas in his family, Cas is content with having only two children, and would have been with just the one, knowing how much Sam's body suffered during pregnancy and after. Alphas in Cas' family run tight ships, each having at least a half dozen children whether their Omegas like it (or can handle it) or not, some taking on beta mistresses besides their wives and impregnating those too. "Spreading the seed, brother," his second cousin Zachariah - father of nine - would say smugly.

His sex life with Sam is pretty vanilla, also atypical of Alpha-Omega relationships where the Alpha usually assert their dominance through things like sadomasochism, public claiming, painful bondage, prolonged orgasm denial and forcing themselves on their mates. Some Alphas even dare to collar their mates, like dogs. Castiel mentally cringes at the thought. He wouldn't dream of doing any of that to his precious Sammy. His six-foot-four beautiful, sensitive, delicate flower.

And although Castiel was beaming when his son presented as Alpha (his joy was a guttural, knee-jerk reaction that couldn't be helped), he would've loved him just the same if he had turned out to be Omega or Beta. He would've treated him no differently.

But here he is - a considerate, loyal husband, an Alpha advocating equal gender roles, and a father who set rules, but makes exceptions and often indulges his family (Cas' cousin Gabe jokingly calls Castiel a "soccer dad," and again Castiel isn't insulted by the sneer) - but his own son is apparently yearning for the same Alpha-Omega dynamics he and Sam have once rejected.

 _What do you know_ , Cas thinks with a smile. _My own father would have a field day with this if he knows._ Cas will try to make sure he doesn't ever.

If Castiel is reading this right, Dean is worming his way into becoming a standard Alpha, and Cas simply can't get himself to punish his son for that. Castiel is well aware that the aggressive, possessive, dark sexual tendencies of Alphas are hardwired; people are not just their biology, sure, but innate nature cannot be discounted. Being an Alpha himself, he knows it takes a lot to reign in those tendencies, and if it weren't for Sam, Castiel himself might have devolved.

In other countries of the world, things are different. In some places, omegas aren’t even allowed to step a foot outside the house. Being seen with a mated omega can land you a fine, even a flogging, depending on the nature of the encounter; while in others, like Europe, for instance, alphas are generally progressionists and the majority of omegas live like betas. Heck, in Paris, the heart of the sexual revolution, Cas hears that omegas can take multiple partners, "open relationships" and "free love" and all that. Even he can't stomach this notion. Thinking about Sam being touched by someone else, just the fleeting thought of it, makes his blood boil.

But in this society, traditional is the norm; him and Sam are the fringe movement. Castiel's unconditional love for Sam, and his respect for their bond, tamed him.

But as liberal as he is, by this society's standards at least, Castiel is also open to the idea that perhaps his father's and his father's father's ways work for some people; that relating to one's nature on this primal level may also be a choice that he should respect.

So yes, he understands his son might not turn out to be like him, and as scary as this idea is, if it turns out to be true, he'll have to accept it and only step in if his son goes too far.

Dean didn't know all that, of course, but he sensed his father was surprisingly level-headed about his rude outburst on that day. (Not that he regrets his outburst.)

Dean, as agreed with Cas, murmured his apology, which of course his mommy immediately accepted, even apologized back.  Dean still gave Sam the silent treatment for almost a week. _Serves Sam right._

He'd speak only when talked to, kept his words clipped, sometimes responds with a mere shrug of the shoulders.

He stopped following his mom around the house and quit spending the afternoons in his arms, lazing on the sofa, reading together or watching TV or looking on as Sam breastfed his baby brother. Ever since his feelings had started last year, right after Adam was born, Dean and his mom had developed an intimate routine; not a day passed without them spending some time together, especially since his dad usually worked late into the evening so it was mostly just them.

Sometimes, they even unfolded the living room's sofa bed, and took a nap together. Sam would lie down with Adam's tiny body sprawled on his chest and Dean glued to one hip, drooling on his shoulder, their legs tangled together.

Not this week, Dean thinks. This week, he spends all his free time letting off steam in boxing training, or playing video games, surfing the internet for movies or porn, just lying on his bed and bobbing his head to AC/DC or staring at the ceiling, or sometimes, he'd jerk off and think of his mom.

He misses the intimacy, but he's holding his ground.

Part of him feels like teaching his mom a lesson. _His omega_. But the bigger part is just plain hurt Sam rejected him like this.

His mom of course is miserable. Only a day ago, when he'd strolled into the kitchen catching Sam off guard, he saw that his mom's eyes were red-rimmed and teary, and he knew it was because of him; his mom was sensitive like that, probably just as overly attached to Dean as Dean is to him. Not unlike him, throughout the past year, his mommy's heart was thoroughly warmed by their newfound closeness.

Sam actively encouraged and heavily reciprocated the displays of affections, in all innocence, of course.

When his mom noticed him come in, he quickly rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat, and asked him if he'd like something to eat. He did. They always had lunch alone. Dean had always thought of this time as his lunch dates with his mommy - with his dad out of the picture. They'd chat about random things, discuss Adam's latest baby antics or Sam would listen to Dean talk excitedly (or dejectedly, depending on the day) about his day at school, or out with friends (if it's summer time).

But this day they didn't exchange a word throughout the meal. Dean didn't look up from his plate, lest he be assaulted by a pair of doe-eyes that would probably make him lose all resolve. Time inched forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. On Dean's life, that meal was the longest 15 minutes of his existence.

Only at the end of that week, after they'd run into each other in the hallway, did the ice melt.

Dad was away for the day; he went fishing with his friends, the outing was planned weeks in advance, and Sam had stayed in to take care of Adam and Dean. He'd put Adam to sleep, after nursing him, and slipped into the shower. Sam stood under the hot water for close to 20 minutes trying to ease the tension in his shoulders and back. When he was done, he pulled a large towel around himself, covering up his swollen chest as well, and left the bathroom. Because of his figure, even the oversized towel didn't decently hide his nakedness enough.

The towel just barely covered his limp swinging prick, and if he bends forward just a little, his bare ass would jut out.

He should invest in a large fluffy bathrobe, pamper himself a bit, Sam thinks.

Heading out of his room for a reprieve from his self-imposed incarceration, Dean sees his mom come out of the bathroom, just opposite from him, at the same time. He was nude except for a towel, obscenely short, and failing to hide the miles of long legs, still damp from his shower apparently.

The towel wrapped tightly around his chest pushed up the swell of Sam's mounds giving him a bit of cleavage. Sam's thighs are muscled, and well-defined, and in contrast, his tits are soft and feminine (probably leaking milk right now, Dean thinks). The son's gaze moves over his mommy, his mouth going dry.

The man standing in front of Dean is gorgeous. And it's too late to turn away and hide in his room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam says awkwardly. He takes a deep breath and looks Dean right in the eyes. _The doe eyes, damn it_. Dean's screwed. "Still not talking to me?" Sam says, biting his lower lip, wetting it then releasing it. It's shiny now, friggin' edible. Dean's a little gone.

"No, mom, we're OK. I was just a little taken back," Dean says. He won't say he was hurt. He's too proud to admit it to his mom's face.

"You know, Dean," his mom begins, and mid-sentence, he looks away for a second and lifts his hands and runs them through his wet hair. When he does, the towel rides up an inch or two, and Dean catches a glimpse of his mommy's flaccid cock. Just the tip. Dean swallows audibly, blood pooling to his groin. Sam continues, "I was hurt too."

Dean swallows again, and his voice comes out hoarser than he'd intended, "Yeah?"

"Yeah Dean," his mom says. "The way you spoke about me. You know, being an omega. That was--that wasn't nice, sweetie."

_That damn subject again._

"But you're an omega, mom," he says stubbornly, his half-arousal wilting. He doesn't want to pick a fight again, so he flattens his tone, adding: "I meant no disrespect. I was just stating a fact. It is who you are, mom."

"Well one day sweetie, we need to sit and have a good talk about this. 'Least when I'm not half-naked and dripping water all over the carpet," Sam says and smiles. "I'm not like other omegas, and I'm sure you've noticed that. Cas and I ..." _Gulp_.

Dean could see his mom's Adam apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Your dad and I, we do things differently, and we don't care for a second what society says about that. I'd like to keep it this way," Sam explains. But his tone is apologetic now. It doesn't carry the sting or resoluteness than it did a week ago when they first discussed the dress.

_Still means no dress._ _God, he's turning into a knot-head._

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean says, feeling a little defeated.

"You don't like it," Sam says, and it's not a question. He looks guilty, like he's disappointed Dean.

"Does it matter?"

"Sweetheart, you just don't understand it well enough—"

"Then make me! Help me understand it."

"Ok, first off, I wanna know ... why do you wanna see me in a dress? Is it that important to you that I be like other omega moms?" Sam asks, and he's genuinely curious. The conversation might linger, so Sam leans back against the now closed bathroom door, easing his posture and making himself a tiny bit more comfortable.

"Yes," Dean says without thinking. Sam's reading this wrong, _it's not about other omegas and what they do, it's about you, mommy, being my omega_. But that's okay. If Sammy reads him right, Dean's screwed. "I mean, would it hurt to be normal, on occasion, do what everyone else does?"

He rests his back against his door too, mirroring his mommy's more relaxed posture.

"It's not only that," Dean says softly then pounds his head back lightly, against the door. "It's just that you're--you're so damn beautiful, mom." He guesses he can get away with a little swearing right now. "It's ridiculous. It takes my breath away sometimes. And I just want to see you in something nice, that brings it all out, you know, how pretty you are. It's not like I'm asking you to wear dresses all the time." _A lie_. "Just once or twice. For me."

He's finding it hard to explain without being explicit. "And it's different than anything else you have. If you wear it, it makes you ..." _Mine_. "It's--And I--it's just that." Dean looks down, suddenly interested in the carpet pattern beneath his feet.

Sam nods his head slowly, though part of him is visibly trying to fill the gaps between Dean's words, to decipher the pauses and the stutters. That part gives up. Sam looks touched by the declaration though.

Then he surprises Dean.

"Ok, I'll think about it."

"Really?" Dean's head shoots up.

"Yeah. Really," Sam says smiling big. "Now, ready to give me a big, old hug?" He says spreading his arms wide.

Dean throws himself into Sammy's arms without an ounce of hesitation. His mom huffs out a breath at the contact then giggles at his son's sudden enthusiasm, in the wake of a dead cold _miserable_ week.

If it'll keep Dean in his arms, where he belongs, Sammy will man up and wear the stupid dress. It's totally worth it, he concludes.

They stay locked in a tight embrace, neither wanting to let go first.

Dean's head rests comfortably under Sam's chin, his own chin lying on top of Sammy's breasts. At 13, Dean is one tall boy; and he'll grow taller still. But Sam is _huge_.

He's huge and ripe, and soft and solid, and the smell of his soap-clean skin, and his flower-scented shampoo, washes over Dean and calms him. Sam smells like home, _he is Dean's home_.

The fuzzy feelings soon start getting replaced by heat, and Dean feels it in his belly and beneath. He knows that if he lets this hug drag on for much longer, he'll get hard, fast. So he pulls back a little.

His mom doesn't let go completely.

"I'm sorry mom." This time Dean means it. "I was too hard on you. You're not just an omega to me."

"I know, Dean," Sam's gaze doesn't falter. "I guess I overreacted too. I have my baggage, and sometimes, I keep it close to the surface. There's nothing wrong with being an omega, buddy. A male omega. And I-I know that. It's just that I'd like to think I'm a little more than a child-bearing, breastfeeding omega to the people I love," Sam says, repeating Dean's words from that day. Dean catches on, of course.

"Mom, I didn't mean it this way. Not as an insult. Come on, I'm blessed that you gave birth to me. To my brother. I'm blessed that my omeg--my mom is a man. And breastfeeding, it's not something to be ashamed of. ... It's totally cool actually!"

Hearing this, Sam giggles again. His smiles are contagious; Dean smiles wide too. "You think so?" he asks.

"I know so, mom."

They gaze at each other for a moment. Then Dean does it. He pushes up, and starts placing soft kisses along his mother's throat, sliding his lips against skin as he moves down to Sam's collarbone. _Kiss_. "I'm sorry, mommy." Dean wets his lips, then moves lower still. Along the swell of his tits. _Kiss_. Then another. Then another. Small, wet butterfly pecks.

Then Dean pulls his arms out from around Sammy's waist. And ...

... He unknots the towel some, without unwrapping it completely, just enough to reveal his mommy's breasts.

Sam lets him have this. Dean doesn't know why, he doesn't care. Sam's silent except when his breath quickens a little as his tits are revealed. The nipples harden under Dean's unwavering, _hungry_ , gaze.

Sam's breasts are full, heavy with milk, his dusky buds are now hard and, like always, a dark shade of pink. It's not like he hasn't seen his mommy's tits before. But this, _this_ is different. Dean senses his mommy knows it too, though he might not be able to put a finger on why.

Right in front of Dean's eyes, a drop of milk forms on one duct and trickles down. Dean catches it with a finger and licks it. Then places a chaste kiss on each nipple, whispering I'm sorry, his lips brushing the nipples as he speaks.

He hikes the towel back up, then braves a look at Sammy. His mommy's cheeks are flaming, he looks shy, confused perhaps but--his eyes are full of love. Like always. "Thank you, Dean," he whispers, clutching Dean's hands and pulling them to his lips. He places a kiss inside of each palm.

...

The following Saturday, Dean wakes up to some music blaring from the kitchen, and his mom singing along, probably dramatically, performing for Adam who usually squeaks and laughs at his mommy's theatrics. It's Angus and Julia Stone's Big Jet Plane, Dean recognizes the lyrics and secretly judges himself for it. His mom, the romantic. _Argh, what happened to sweet old Metallica, mom?_ He thinks. He hates mornings. He splashes his face with water, brushes his teeth, and walks down.

And there he is. His mommy Sam in a white dress.

The white dress.

Adam is already up of course, in his high chair, spitting out food and making a happy mess. Mommy's lips quirk into a big smile when he sees Dean come in. He's prepared a big breakfast. Eggs and sizzling hot bacon, pancakes and orange juice.

Mommy gives him a quick pec on the cheek. Then swirls around, showing himself.

"What do you think?" Sam asks, a little shy from the looks of it. "Your daddy is out of town, and I thought I could just put it on for a few hours. It could be our little secret. Until I'm comfortable enough to wear it again, if I'm comfortable enough." Dean almost doesn't believe his ears. _Their secret_. Castiel is not going to have a piece of this. _This is just for him?_

Dean looks at Sam, from head to toe, taking it all in. The dress falls low on Sam's back, revealing it all.

The dress is not low-cut on the front, but the outline of Sam's pecs is clear, the hard nipples are poking out through two damp - now transparent - spots on the front, and Dean's eyes linger there for a bit. Sam notices, and quickly explains to Dean that the spots are washable. It's just milk. "It won't stain," he says. "This dress doesn't go well with any of my bras."

 _And thank the Lord for that_ , Dean thinks, his eyes going back to those wet spots. His cheeks burn hot and his cock gives a twitch. Then another when Dean's eyes move down along the expanse of Sam's body, all the way from his floppy hair to his bare toes stopping at the high-cut slit at the front of Sam's dress.

Every time he moves around the kitchen, the open sides of the skirt flutter revealing Sam's thick thighs and long unshaved legs. _My heart_ , Dean thinks.

Dean needs to sit down, he decides, and hide what will soon be an embarrassingly full arousal behind the kitchen table.

When he does, he takes several deep breaths, thinks of big fat spiders, grandpa and grandma going at it and other ugly things that could help his erection die down. He succeeds a little, and his length falls to half-mast. _Phew, disaster averted_. _Mostly_.

...

Later this evening, Dean walks into the living room to find his mommy snoozing on the sofa. He still tires easily, ever since Adam, and he usually collapses by late afternoon, or early evening. Sammy is half sitting up, half lying down, his back resting against the arm of the sofa and his head is falling on his shoulder. Fatigue left him boneless, apparently, and drooling a little and Dean finds the latter adorable instead of gross.

Sam's mouth is slightly open, one arm falling to the floor, the other on his chest. One knee is slightly bent, resting against the back of the couch, the other is bent up and away, hiking up the dress, the skirt of it falling wide open and putting Sam on display. Not used to being in a dress, Sam's body is accustomed to comfort and openness. Being in shorts or pants all the time, it's subconscious; Sam's not used to closing his thighs or crossing his legs to hide his modesty, which is right now beautifully exhibited.

Dean's eyes flicker to between his mommy's lax legs, and Sam's white briefs are in full view.

His heart races.

His mom is spread out like a delicious treat for his eyes only.

Dean moves closer, almost on tip toe, trying to be as quiet as he can. _Don't wake up mommy please_ , Dean thinks. _Just let me see, show me please. Show me._ Dean keeps repeating this like a mantra in his head as he approaches his mom.

He's kneeling by the sofa now. His heart almost stops at what he glimpses. A fire burns hot in his belly. His gaze gets fixed between Sam's spread legs, and ...

... in his sleep, Sam's slack briefs have slipped to the side and now part of Sam's hairy sac is exposed. Dean can't stop staring, and it feels dirty wrong, in all the right ways.

He keeps staring, mesmerized, his own chest rising and falling sucking in breaths at double speed.

Dean wishes he could bend forward and take Sam's naked heavy balls into his mouth and suck, lick a wet stripe across Sam's junk, mouth at the head through the cottony fabric. Dean's own cock fattens up as his gaze travels between Sam's open mouth, slack briefs and his covered tits. His hips jerk. Once, twice. He starts alternating between rubbing his cock to give himself some relief, then kneading his balls (almost bruisingly) to stop himself from creaming his underwear. He desperately wants to rut against the couch, or better his mommy, but he can't chance Sam waking up.

His own briefs are now damp with precome.

He plucks up some courage, and runs a finger against mommy's balls. He looks up at his face. Sammy hasn't even stirred, his mommy is fast asleep.

Then without hesitating, Dean takes the rim of the threadbare, loose fabric and stretches it to the side exposing more of the hidden treasure beneath. He can now see cock.

For an Omega, Sammy is well endowed.

Now that he can see everything, Dean can't stop looking at his mommy's nuts and flaccid prick.

He wants to take Sam into his mouth and taste him there, nibble on the flesh. Perhaps bury his nose under Sam's sac, take several deep breaths. Smell his mommy down there, take in the pure omega scent.

He wants to breathe his mommy.

But he can't, not now, so instead, he kisses, very lightly. Nuzzling Sam's exposed bag, the inside of his thigh, his cock.

He releases the briefs, letting them go slack again.

Before he stands up to go back to his room - find some release there, jerking off to the memory of this display - Dean fondles Sam's mounds a little, brushes the pads of his thumbs across mommy's engorged nipples, then leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth.

One day he'll be able to touch his mom like this when he's awake, he tells himself. Holding this thought, Dean gets up and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan? Dean will become more sexually aggressive as he grows up.


	4. Getting a taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got busy so this is just a short one, compared to the previous ones. I promise you that a longer, juicier chapter is coming up soonish, with some sex, angst, drama and tears. Stay tuned.
> 
> This is my first ever slash fic so of course feedback is more than welcome.

Dean and his mommy have become inseparable, to the point where Dean's chest aches when he's away from him for too long whether he’d be at school; in boxing training, with friends, or those times when his parents (the lovebirds) would go out on dates, or spend some alone-time together.

It's the reason why weekday afternoons are now near-sacred to Dean. It's his time with mommy before he gets busy with homework, or, before he gets picked up and dropped off to training or to see his friends.

Dean doesn't hold back during those times: He doesn't stop touching his mom, whether he is  hugging, fake-wrestling, horsing around, "accidentally"  touching Sammy's breasts or groin or ass, lying in Sammy's arms or even on his lap, running his hands through mommy's hair, nuzzling his jaw, his neck, smacking kisses on his hands and fingers, rubbing their noses together and a few times, kissing him right on the lips. Mommy basks in the attention and love.

 _Of course he does,_ Dean thinks.

Dad told Dean that Sam had a tough childhood; his father was mostly absent and when he was around he didn't pay much attention to his kids, and Sam's mom was anything but warm. It's part of the reason why Sam is openly affectionate—over compensation for a starved childhood—while avoiding his mother's parenting model in the process. Unlike his parents, Sam prioritises bonding with his family and is programmed—not just to give love —but take love where he can take it; he's like a bottomless pit, always craving what he grew up missing. And of course, he worships at the altar of his husband and kids.

Besides, Dean is convinced his mommy was already his; he just has to ease him into the realisation. And so far, his mommy is very responsive.

Right now, they’re sitting on the living room sofa again in their typical position, Adam in his mommy's arms, nursing, with Dean half lying on top of his mom, practically straddling a thigh. With the way they're snuggled, Dean's own chest is squishing Sam's currently unoccupied breast.

Dean has convinced his mom to lose the shirt while he's nursing, saying things like "easier," "you run too hot mommy when you're nursing, this way you won't sweat in it," yadda yadda. Sammy would still keep his bra on, and just free one boob at a time to feed Adam, but Dean isn’t complaining. As long as there's progress, he's good.

Dean's cheek is touching Sammy's collarbone skin-on-skin where his head is lying. Sam's scent is heavier, more filling. Two of Dean's fingers are absently circling the skin around where Adam's mouth is latching on and suckling. Dean is lost in the sight before him. He's a visual person. He likes looking.

His mommy is relaxed, and from time to time, he'll turn his head and kiss Dean's forehead.

Sometimes when they're in a different position, when Dean is just laying a head on Sammy's shoulder instead of half-blanketing him like he is now, he would gently knead Sammy's free milk-swollen breast as he watches Adam or talks with his mom. Dean likes feeling up the nipple poking through the bra, caressing it, playing with it until it's fully erect. He'd feel feather-light shivers running through his mommy's body as he does. If Dean wasn't listening to every small response, registering every twitch and ripple, consumingly tuned in to his Sammy's body as he is, he would've missed it.

Sometimes, he would finger Sammy's navel, or run the pads of his fingers along his treasure trail, from the navel and down to the rim of his shorts or sweats, then back up again. Sometimes, he just rubs his mom's belly in soothing circles, like his mom would do when he has a belly ache. Other times, Dean would just rest a hand near his mom's groin, his pinky rubbing absently, stroking against Sammy's genitals.

"I'm gonna miss those," Dean says now, as he touches where Adam's lips meet skin. "When you wean Adam off," he elaborates.

"Trust me, sweetheart, mommy won't. They're heavy, and they're painful sometimes."

"How long did I nurse on them when I was a baby?"

"Almost two years. You were weaned early, and you didn't give me any trouble at all. Unlike Mister Adam here who I think is gonna give me a hard time," Sam says, his tone full of love.

Adam is around 16 months old, so thankfully Dean will get to enjoy the sight of his mommy's C-cups for a bit longer. He can only hope Adam proves hard to wean off. He knows some kids keep nursing until the age of 9 or 10, especially in traditional households. His grandma once told him that his uncles and dad nursed for roughly 4-5 years, and that was considered too little time back then.

Sammy told him that his breasts will eventually get smaller when he stops breastfeeding, "I'll never be flat-chested again. Your body changes forever, you know, after having children. But it won't be as big and full as it is now, thank God."

But Dean won't start mourning them yet.

"I don't remember," Dean says.

"What? Being breastfed? No one does, sweetheart."

_A pregnant pause._

"Mommy, can I get a taste?" he blurts out.

His mom just laughs softly.

"Please?"

"Someone's curious, alright. You're probably the first big kid I've heard of who's not terribly grossed out by the idea," Sam says.

Dean scrunches his nose in genuine bewilderment and looks up at his mom, "Why would I? It's food for my baby brother. It'll help him get big, like me. And you have a nice chest, mommy. Breastfeeding is beautiful." _Your titties are beautiful._

"Aww, baby, now you're waxing lyrical," Sam says, leaning in to press a peck on the tip of Dean's nose.

"So can I?" Dean insists.

Sammy huffs a breath, and says, "Yeah, sweetheart. Why not?"

Dean starts to sit up. Sam looks a little surprised.

"What, now?"

"No, mommy, when I'm in college,"  he smiles. "Of course now!"

"Alright," Sam says, sits up himself and eases Adam off his breast for a moment. Dean helps him hold Adam while he unclasps his bra and takes it off completely.

Dean can immediately sense his mommy is feeling somewhat self-conscious at getting topless, and he avoids looking at Dean.

Dean doesn't understand why: Sammy's tits are very pretty, and his nips are hard and pointy, they're fucking _gorgeous_. If it were up to him, he'd make his mommy walk shirtless around the house.

Scratch that, if it were, his mommy wouldn't be allowed to put clothes on inside the house. He'd have him barefoot and butt naked 24/7.

When Adam is settled again, Dean doesn't waste a breath and swoops in to take the other breast in his mouth. He begins sucking right away, like he'd been thirsty for weeks.

He's on a high, right now, doesn't even believe he's getting away with this. Probably hurting mommy from the sound of it, but Sammy's whimpers only excite Dean more, his dick now taking interest and pushing against his zipper.

He hopes his mom doesn't notice this side-effect.

"Easy, Dean," mommy says moments later and squeezes his shoulders with his free hand to get his attention. Dean looks up at him as he continues to suckle, his mouth still working, but Sammy's eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing is coming out a little faster. He's biting on his lower lip.

"Don't bite the nipple, baby. Wait--Dean!" He pushes him away, suddenly. Dean pulls back a little, a thin line of spit connecting his mouth to the hard nip he just parted with. He regards his mom innocently.

"You're hurting mommy, De," Sam says.

"What should I do, then," Dean asks, inching closer so now his lips are brushing against the bud as he speaks softly, "to make you feel good, mommy." His voice is vibrating against the nipple. He adds, "I mean, so you'd feel less pain."

"You're sucking too hard, sweetheart," Sam holds Dean's head against his bare chest, with one hand. "Open wide ... wider, honey," Sam says then pushes the tit back in. Dean latches on again, but this time keeps his mouth slack, waiting for more instructions. "Don't just take the tip. Don't latch on just the end, De. The nipple should be touching your tongue, not pinched between your teeth." Sam explains. _Oh mom, you're killing me here._

Dean begins sucking, as told. "Yeah, that's right, just put enough pressure there to get some milk out. Don't rush, and don't bite down. Th-that's good, baby."

Dean is enjoying this too much, his arousal at mommy's brand of accidental dirty talk is making him a little dizzy. He can’t help the moans that escape him. His hips hitch too despite his efforts to control his downstairs brain.

Before his mom suspects he's nearly bringing himself off as he does this, with all the moans and twitching, he takes his mouth away, and mutters "It's delicious, mommy," as innocently as he can. His eyes never leave his mother’s chest for a moment, then he goes back and continues suckling.

He doesn't do it for longer though. His mom soon pushes him away, telling him to leave some for Adam, doesn't put the bra back on, but puts on the shirt. While he does, Dean adjusts himself so his arousal is not visible.

Sam looks somewhat uncomfortable. And when he's settled back, he doesn't pull Dean back in his arms. He just ruffles his hair and asks him if he's got homework to do. It's Sammy's polite, loving way of dismissing him.

Dean kind of expected this; when things become a little strange, like when Dean started making a habit of kissing Sam's neck or his jaw, or when he started placing soft pecks on his lips, wires are crossed a little for Sam, and he'll get momentarily confused or falter instead of reciprocating or thinking nothing of it.

But every time he'd end up embracing the change in dynamics.

Dean knows his mother is enjoying all this as much as he.

The first time Dean kissed him full on the mouth, Sam didn't exactly kiss back, and asked humorously, "What was that for?" Dean just shrugged, not wanting to make it look like a big deal, like he didn't know where the question is coming from, like something is up with Sammy if he's asking. Dean just told him, he "just felt like it." _Can't a son give his mommy an innocent, chaste kiss?_

The last time they kissed? It was his mommy who puckered up and presented his lips for kissing. Dean was ecstatic. He gripped mommy's waist and gave him a big old wet kiss. No spit was exchanged or anything, but Dean parted his mouth a bit as he kissed. He consciously pressed his lips a few seconds too long, the tip of his tongue prodded Sammy's sealed lips, then nibbled on his lower lip dragging it with him. When Dean pulled back from the kiss, Sam's lip slipped from his mouth with a soft pop.

The kiss was yummy. Dean had raised his game, and it could only get better from there.

So now, Dean decided he won't read too much into Sam's discomfort at the breastfeeding experiment; perhaps his mommy did realise on some level that it was slightly erotic for Dean. Perhaps Sam sensed his arousal, smelled it, or caught a glimpse of his growing bulge before he had a chance to adjust. Or not. His mommy is very innocent and worships Dean.

In all cases, Dean knows like he knows like he _knows_ that he won't be denied this if he asks for it again (and he will).

Call it an alpha hunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the alpha nature of Castiel: I realized after chapter 3 that I described Cas in two different ways: once as a traditional yet flexible and understanding alpha in chapter 1, and another as a "liberal, sort of" alpha in chapter 3, who broke ranks with family tradition when he relinquished their ultra-conservative lifestyle. I went back of course, and fixed this, compromising in favor of the view that sees Cas as slightly progressionist and atypical. 
> 
> That said, Cas might think he's more liberal than he is. Yes, he grants his family liberties other traditional families won't allow, he's monogamous, he's not sexually aggressive, etc. ... but he would never do certain things: like let Sam get a job, for instance (it's seen as "degrading" for mated omegas to labor outside of the house). He'd never allow Sam to travel alone, unless accompanied by another alpha relative. When they started their relationship, Cas convinced Sam that going to university was a bad idea. Sure, more than ever, more and more omegas have been seeking higher education. But it was generally more of a beta and alpha thing. Besides, male omegas weren't that common, and he hated the idea of his Sammy being outnumbered like that, away from his watchful eyes. Sure, Cas discussed his reasons with Sam, and wasn't immediately dismissive of that particular idea, but he knew he wasn't going to change his mind about it. From his end, Sam didn't push too hard on some things; he knew Cas was already fighting the tide on many aspects. 
> 
> Cas' family didn't approve of his bonding to Sam, but Cas fought for him tooth and nail. He paid a hefty price: His father cut him out for the first few years of his marriage, and barred him from being part of the family business. And his father's ill feelings didn't change for the better until much later. 
> 
> Sam had wanted to start an American History degree, long distance, but with Dean being born, he got too busy and was forced to drop the idea. By the time Dean was old enough for Sam to put aside some free time for studying, Sam had lost interest altogether, being wholly focused on and devoted to his son.
> 
> And so yes, there were some traditional beliefs that Castiel couldn't let go of, others he was happy to re-consider and yet others that he have done without altogether. There. 
> 
> Let me know if there's any confusion there, and I'm happy clarify or edit the text to make it all better. Hope you're still enjoying this.


	5. What you don't know ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So as not to keep you waiting any longer, I'm posting this chapter in two parts :-) Hope you like the first installment.
> 
> Dean is now 14 years old.

Dean was steadily taking more and more from his mommy. Now, the kisses are wetter, the touches last longer, and he doesn't even need Adam to be hanging off a breast in order to go ahead and take out one of his mommy's tits and start suckling.

Months after the first time he tasted the milky buds, it's now a familiar thing for Dean, during their idling on the sofa, to slide his hand under Sammy's shirt or bra and start fondling his breasts.

He can't grope his mommy between his legs yet, and he hasn't even suggested they spend their quality time in less clothing (like he'd like to), but he's getting there.

Already, he now gets away with placing an open palm low on Sammy's stomach, inching down bit by bit until he can push past the rims of his mommy's sweats and shorts and graze his fingers lightly through his coarse pubic hair. Sometimes, he simply tugs down the waistband of his mommy's sweats some and enjoys the view.

Some days, Sam's so exhausted—thanks to two-year-old Adam—who spends his time trying his legs at walking, experimenting with different ways of face planting into the carpet, throwing stuff around, or throwing tantrums, and forever demanding more attention from their mommy. And Dean offers a helping hand, quite literally, by giving Sammy a head massage or, sometimes, a foot rub.

He's seen his dad do that sometimes, and realized he wants in.

He loves giving his mom some relief but also likes to show him that he, too, can be a caring Alpha. On top of that, he enjoys rubbing Sam's head to coax out those orgasmic sounds his mommy unwittingly makes when he does. He loves carding his fingers through Sam's silky soft hair, or kissing the underside of Sam's feet after he's done kneading them, and rolling and pulling the toes. Dean loves his mommy's toes. _Is there anything about this man that's not downright pretty?_

Dean even skimmed through a book at his school's library and saw an educational video online on how to give proper (medical) massages, and if you know him well, Dean doesn't read books, mind you, and educational videos are for ... well, not for him.

But what his mommy doesn't know is that he plans on taking this further into the realm of shoulder and back rubs, and one day, full body massages, where his mommy would be lying in briefs, or better still fully undressed, and naked to his gaze and at his mercy. This way, Dean has a legitimate excuse to touch and squeeze everywhere, without needing to distract his mommy during, or making a gazillion baby steps over the course of several months first.

Dean thinks he only has to tactfully play this one card right, and his mom might not even think it too odd to be laid out, face down on his marriage bed, legs splayed, holding his cheeks apart for his son, so Dean could massage his asshole  ... you know, to "ease the tension there, release pressure, relax the lower back" and all that. Dean will find something to say, he's sure, to make it sound like it's anything but erotic for him. He fantasizes about this scenario a lot.

He'll just have to wear a cock-ring while he's having this particular conversation so he won't blow his load too early and—yes, at 14, and interested in anything sex-related—Dean of course knows what a cock-ring is, though he's not of legal age to buy one if he desires. Dean's best friend, Benny, happens to be as obsessed with sex and body parts as Dean is, so they talk about these things all the time, especially during recesses at school where they can ogle girls and undress them with their eyes. Benny has popped his knot this year, a month after turning 14, and although he hasn't experienced a rut yet, his libido is often sky high.

As an early bloomer, Dean has started to feel the heat too only this year. Before turning 14, scenting an omega's heat used to wash over him without reducing him to a boneless mess. Only his mom would make his blood run warm and pool to his groin. Now, his reactions are becoming more intense and spread out; he reacts to other omegas and betas, and his senses are becoming sharper.

It's all typical of Alphas who've presented very early; they don't feel much for the first two to three years after their knots pop, then suddenly, overnight seemingly, they feel everything.

Dad had, long ago, given Dean the birds and the bees talk, and explained to him that it was OK for him to get off in the privacy of his room or in the shower if he started feeling the heat badly. In fact, it's physically draining and very unhealthy for an alpha to fight their heat, or force it to die out, if it hits hard. So he actually _has to_ do it.

Of course, kids younger than sixteen aren't allowed porn, or sexual activity, so they're expected to get off using their imagination and plain old friction techniques.

Sure, with his sexy mommy strutting around the house looking gorgeous and edible, Dean has a loaded spunk bank in his head, usually featuring mommy in different compromising positions, naked or in purple lace panties that he holds aside for Dean so he can fuck into him. In these  imaginary scenarios Sammy always begs prettily and tells him he's his.

But at "horny 14," Dean still needs the aid of skin mags - which Benny smuggles from his dad's ever-growing collection - and he also blows steam with girls in school. He flirts, touches, makes out with them behind the bleachers, groping them everywhere, pulling down the zipper of his pants, lifting up skirts, grinding cock against pussy through underwear, usually soaked wet with precome. Once he's ejaculated several times with the same girl, he moves on to another.

He rarely stays in these mock relationships for over a couple of months.

And oh, did Dean ever mention that he's a jock? Yes, he's sexy as hell and he knows it. His grandma had once predicted that he'd be a heart-breaker, and he kinda is—he thinks—and he's not even 16 yet. Being athletic and strong for his age helps his case, and usually it inspires girls to drop their panties for him. Not just girls his age, but girls who're a year or two older, and in school, that's a feat!

His sexual encounters with the girls are mechanical though, more often than not, and always without any emotional investment (though Dean has mastered the seductive art of sweet talking, which is mostly pretty-sounding nonsense that the girls obviously swoon to, but is the closest thing to "affection" Dean can give away to these girls).

He's not cheating on his mom, Dean reasons. He and Sam are a done deal. He tells himself every night—the ghost of Sam’s lips on his—that he _has_ to use the girls, considering how often he needs to calm down little Dean who springs up and stands at attention whenever the wind blows a little too strongly or a whiff of omega in heat tickles his nose.

Ever since he popped his knot two years earlier, around the time his baby brother was born, his mom hasn't really experienced heat.

After giving birth, Sammy was weak - some omega males suffer profoundly during conception and child-breaking, and to top this off, he was one of those omegas whose bodies stopped producing certain hormones right after birth, which gave him intense hot flashes, menopause-like symptoms specific to omegas, and pains, especially during sex. His mom had explained it to him last year when he asked him about his lack of heats.

Besides the regular post-pregnancy medicines, Sam was put on a lot of omega supplements shortly after birth for hormonal replacement, and some of these automatically suppressed his ‘heat’ cycles as a side-effect, and it was a good thing, since, in Sam's case, being in heat would've probably ravished and weakened his body even more.

Heats take a toll on omega bodies.

That two-year medicinal schedule was up last week, however, and he heard Sammy tell his dad that he'd have to start monitoring his cycle again. In hushed whispers, he also heard them arrange the logistics. In short, what they'd do with Adam and Dean during those three or four days when his mom's heat hit bad and dad would have to ease its brunt (through frantic sex marathons, Dean assumes, and immediately feels like emptying his stomach but manages to swallow back the bile already rising in his throat).

When the time comes for it, Dean promised himself, he'll have to be around, do what he can to help his mommy, so it's his touch that would soothe him instead of his dad's.

Yes, Dean knows he can't make love to his mommy, not yet, but he can do other things if his mom allows it.

Practicalities aside, the thought that his mom—because of his nature—can't handle heats until he's fucked open on a dick constantly makes Dean angry at the world. He can't stop thinking about it, right up until that day his mom started permeating a shockingly pronounced scent that signaled the nearness of his heat.

Right now, they're sitting at the dinner table, and his dad is holding conference after dinner to discuss their new routine during the following four days. Sam knows his heat will probably intensify some time tomorrow.  

Adam would have to stay at grandma's during the interlude, Cas explains. Being a little over two years old now, he can't be without a present caretaker for too long, and Sam will probably be too drained during the heat to give him the attention that he needs. At grandma's he'll have a line of helpers to cater to his every whim, and Aunt Naomi, Castiel's half-sister, who's still single, adores Adam, and had already said she'd love to babysit him at their family home for a few days.

Dean is so far silent.

It's like everyone around this table is pretending they're not essentially talking about freeing the house for his dad to climb his mommy and do him. _What's wrong with his family?_ They're sitting here talking like they're making _vacation_ plans.

Dean is already sulking, trying to hide his increasing annoyance that his mom looks glowing, cheeks blotched with red and eyes bright with want. In a first, Dean feels like punching that look off of Sam. You know, _practice some right hooks on mommy's pretty, beaming face. And man, his right hooks are good!_

 _Goddamn,_ he thinks. It immediately hits Dean how violent this image is and he mentally cringes. He'd never intentionally hurt his mommy, not ever.

According to dad, Dean will have to spend his time after school with Mrs. Harvelle, their next door neighbor, and her daughter Jo who's two years Dean's junior and goes to the same school as Dean. Ellen will fetch them from school every day for the next four day, and bring them back to her house, where Dean will spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening until Cas helps mommy take the edge off and he's settled and calmer, and it's time for Dean to go to bed. Sugar-coated words for "Cas will send Dean away so he can fuck Sam into the mattress, and pump him with his seed."

Cue bloody murder.

Dad will be off work, of course - companies happily accommodate Alphas partnered with omegas (betas don't go into heat).

"What about my training?" Dean asks. He knows he'll already refuse the arrangement whatever it is, but pretending to be interested in the details is a good way to find a loophole and in turn an excuse to stay.

"I'll drive you there, and back again of course," Cas says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, no! Dad, I don't wanna stay away all day. That's just terrible. I'll be in my room."

"Not gonna work, buddy."

"I don't wanna hang out with either Mrs. Harvelle or her daughter."

"Why? Mrs. Harvelle is one of the swee--" It's Sam who speaks this time.

But Dean cuts him off. "She's a wench and her daughter is annoying as hell."

"Dean!" Cas bellows, "watch your language, young man!"

Dean ignores him, and fumes some more.

Sam suggests, "Would it be easier, sweetheart, to sleep over at grandma's, you know, watch over Adam too?" Dean hesitates.

His mommy extends a hand to grip Dean's shoulders, probably to calm him a bit seeing that he's getting flustered, but Dean shrugs it away.

If Dean has a say, he doesn't want Adam to leave the house to begin with. He friggin' adores his baby brother, and he'd hate to be away from him for that long too. _Four days, dammit. This truly sucks balls._ Under other circumstances, he'd agree to watch over Adam in a blink. The little chubby boy is funny when he half-talks, half mumbles nonsense and he's a cute as a button. He might have had Dean a little whipped as well.

But no!

So, "No!" Dean says stubbornly. Castiel's parents live on the edge of town, and to make arrangements to get Dean to and from school everyday while he stays there might be problematic, so thankfully Cas shoots down this idea too.

"You don't have much of a choice, buddy," Castiel says, with a finality Dean rejects.

"I. will. _not_. spend my days with Ellen and Jo," Dean repeats through gritted teeth.

"It's Mrs. Harvelle," Dad corrects firmly.

Then he and Dean's mommy exchange meaningful looks.

"Look, Dean," Here it comes, and it's dad using his patronizing I-will-start-explaining-this-in-small-words voice. _Exasperating_. "This is the first time your mommy is going through heat while you're alpha. We don't know how strongly your body will react to that, yet, and we don't want to make it too hard for you. I mean, did you go through a rut before? during this past year? If you go into a rut with an omega in heat in the same house, it's a problem. So ... did you get a proper heat before?"

Dean glares daggers at his dad, then looks away, refusing to answer, grinding his teeth.

"Okay, I'm guessing no! So the first time is always hard, and we don't want you to experience it during a school week with your next set of exams so close. It's different from being turned on. You already know that. And if your mom's heat accidentally stirs your first heat, without relief, you might get sick, Dean."

Dean knows that first heats are the absolute worst. He’s heard all the stories about people forcing themselves on others during, or burning up when they fail to find relief, and no, jacking off doesn't cut it with heats. An alpha can control it only for so long, so he has to leave the proximity of any  omega or take the omega; if he's around an omega in heat long enough without release, like his dad said, he'll probably fall ill. It's why omegas take leave from work, or school, during heats; both to avoid being jumped, raped, or molested, and to spare alphas the pain. Some take suppressants and suffer their long list of side effects.

In many ways, betas are the luckiest.

"Come on sweetie, it's for your own good to stay away during the worst of it," his mommy interjects, cheeks burning red, clearly embarrassed now that they're openly talking about this.

"It's not for my good. It's for yours, mom," Dean says, and pushes his chair back and stands up. "’Cause you're horny and you can't control yourself!"

"Dean!" Sam protests, but Dean's on a roll now.

"It's for him," Dean spits the words then points at Cas accusingly. His finger’s shaking with rage and his own audacity. "Cause _he's_ selfish too, and, and he’s p-possessive and he can't even friggin' compete with another alpha!" _It's for you, Dad, so you can be alone with your bitch,_ Dean wants to say it because it's true, and it definitely makes more sense than what he's babbling right now which even he knows is a load of crap.

But how can he make them understand the wrongness of it all without sounding like a jealous lover?

Both parents have stilled at his sudden antagonism: Sam’s staring like he can’t believe what Dean’s saying, while Castiel, he–

"You know what, Dean?" Castiel says, his posture shifting. His eyes are glassy and hostile, like he's calculating just how to lunge at Dean and strangle him. "You're not part of this conversation anymore." He stands, the chair dragging horribly across the floor like nails along a chalkboard. "The decision has been made. In fact, it's an _order_."

Castiel is all intimidation and broad alpha. His hands are splayed out across the table and white at the edges.

Dean is a little afraid of his dad now, of the darkness that is seemingly gripping him, but he's not about to back down. So he squares his shoulders when Cas moves closer and rises to his full height for effect. He's not that much shorter than his dad. He'll probably outgrow him in a few years. But right now, his father is towering over him a little menacingly.

His dad has never hurt him before, but Dean so far has not given him a reason to.

Castiel is generally even-tempered, but if Dean's fair, his dad's temper has never really been tested. Now that Dean thinks of it, he hasn't pushed him far enough to see if he's capable of _turning_.

Dean is hard-headed and strong; he's a skilled boxer who's used to thinking on his feet and strategizing—not book-smart like Adam or Sam—but in matters involving conflict, he's far from stupid. He wouldn't take on an opponent blind. And let's face it, if it comes down to _wolf country_ , brute strength on brute strength, wolf on wolf, his father can _easily_ take him, irrelevant of Dean's training.

And Castiel _is_ in wolf mode now, with Sam's heat innervating his possessive streak and his own rut stirring in response to Sam's and somewhat clouding his senses.

"I'm not your soldier, and dad, when I'm done with school...” Dean stares straight at his father, unwavering. “I'm coming right back here."

"God help me, I'm breaking both your legs if you step through that door a single minute before I allow you to, Dean Winchester!" Cas shoots back, his voice venomous.

"Castiel!" Sam shouts. He comes to stand between them, back to Dean, nudging Castiel away. "How could you say something like this?" He splays his hands over Castiel’s chest and shoves, "–to our son?!"

Sam's angry now. _Good, he should be,_ Dean thinks. Looks much better on him than that flushed, dreamy look he had a while earlier.

“Son?” Castiel half-roars. “What son is like this?!”

“Ours!” Sam’s hand spreads over Dean as though protecting him, and he must feel the _thud-thud_ of Dean’s heart pounding in his ribcage. They’re all locked in a standoff where the only way forwards is through violence—Dean can see it already, Castiel shoving forwards, Sam tumbling to the ground, a red whip-lash of blood and a _crack_ of Dean’s jaw.

Then Adam begins to cry, and it spears through the tension like a siren going off.

He must’ve caught the distress in his mommy's voice. Adam's crying startles Dean and immediately he feels guilty for upsetting his baby brother like this. He wants to take him in his arms and shield him from everything, including himself, but his mom moves first, plucking Adam from his high chair and putting him on his hip, bouncing him up and comforting him.

"Shhh, it's alright baby," Sam says, kissing Adam's face. "I scared you, honey. Shhhh, I know, I know, I'm sorry baby."

Sam looks back at his husband and son. Castiel breathes deep, then backs off from Dean, putting a lid on his rage, though his shadow is still cast long across the tile floor and Dean stands at the apex of it.

Castiel’s angry, but more in control now that his wife's shock at his words and his toddler's wails have sobered him.

"It's my fault," Sam says, when both alphas remain tight-lipped. "I should've planned this another way and spared you all the pain. Taken suppressants or something, instead of putting Dean through this. Dean shouldn't be made to change his routine. He shouldn't give up comforts for me."

 _Oh, I'd do anything for you mom, but not this,_ Dean thinks. _I will not authorize your violation._

At Sam's words, or maybe the look that crosses Dean’s face, Castiel's nostrils flare and his jaw clenches tightly. "That's it," Cas says, voice like steel. "Dean, to your room!" And when Dean doesn't move- "Now!" Cas bellows, his voice gone all Alpha, and Dean can't help but give an about-face, abandon his plan of fighting back and instead speed to his room, climbing up two stairs at a time. He can hear his brother lunge into another crying fit as he does, getting worked up again hearing Cas shout at Dean.

In the kitchen, Sam continues to comfort Adam, and Cas reluctantly joins in after Sam gives him a hard gaze.

"Let's move to the living room," Cas says. They do, and when they settle down, Cas puts his head between his hands, and takes another deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"That was ... disastrous," Sam says.

Cas just huffs drily.

"I can't believe you threatened Dean like that. Cas, saying something so cruel ..." Sam simply says. "I mean, I know you didn't mean it, of co--"

"Suppressants, Sam? really?" Cas begins, cutting off Sam's lecture. Sam nods slowly.

Cas continues: "You're barely recovering from childbirth. Two years on and you practically pass out from exhaustion when it's bedtime. And what, now you want to keep injecting your body with poisons? ... and why? Because our son is a spoilt brat!"

"Don't call him that!" Sam says sharply. He huffs a breath, then adds, "Dean is the most sensitive kid I know."

"That, that looked sensitive to you? Back there? Come back to Earth, Sam. Dean, he's selfish and--"

"No! Cas, no! Stop it," Sam says and when Adam gets upset again, Sam bounces him a bit and speaks to him softly.

"Look, Cas, Dean just hates to be away, that's all. Besides, he doesn't understand. Cas– last time my heat came on, he was barely 11, or did you forget that?" Sam says.

Throughout his pregnancy, Sam was taking supplements that tapered off his heats.

_Silence._

"No, I didn't forget," Cas finally says, partly humoring Sam, obviously still riled. Then he declares, "you're too close to him."

"What?"

"I've been seeing it for a while, Sam. You two are just too close. He's clinging to you, and you're letting him," Cas says.

"I don't know what you're talking about ... how close is too close for a mother and son who're also best friends?!" Sam says, genuinely baffled.

Cas huffs a laugh, devoid of humor. "Now he's your best friend?"

“Yeah, he is, Cas. And Dean's not clingy. He's considerate. Sensitive! ... despite his hard demeanor. He likes to pretend he's a hard-ass, but I know better. He has the decency to set aside time to spend together with his _family_. I’ve never met a kid his age who does that, let alone without being asked."

"For God's sake, he's too attached to you, Sam! Can't you see it? You're so wrapped up in each other. Just look at how you're rising to his defense."

"Really, Cas? You're practically accusing our son of love! And you expect me to back you up?" Sam says, rocking back with Adam clutched to him. "What else now? Blaming me for not trying to put a stopper on his feelings? Right. ... How dare he love his own mother! How very un-alpha-like of him to be open about his feelings like the sweet child that he is!"

"That's not what I'm saying, Sam, and you know it."

"Do I?"

_A pause._

_He doesn’t, Cas realises. Sam’s line of sight starts and ends at his son’s feet._

"What do you want me to do, Cas? Ask my own son to back off when he tries to hug me or kiss me? Push him away—is that it? I don't know, maybe I’ll become my own mother and hope he'll man up a little if I treat him like crap. Manhandle him and order him around so he can grow to be _tough_. Huh? tell me, Cas. Say it. What do you think I should do the next time Dean lays his head on my shoulder or spends an afternoon with me? Tell him to find another source of affection? Tell him to turn to his friends? Turn to _strangers_?"

Obviously, Castiel has hit a chord. He backpedals with all the hesitation of his recent revelation. He doesn't want to cause Sam distress; the point of imposing this separation during their heats was to give Sam a break and avoid putting him on suppressants that would eat at his strength and good health.

His and Sam's looming heats are wearing them out, making them run hot and cold and obviously rendering Sam too emotional at the moment. Castiel will think about all this later when his mind’s clear.

"You know, it's been a long day. So here's what's happening. Sam, I don't want to hear this suppressants talk again," he says. He softens a little, "Please baby. For me." He then approaches Sam and takes both him and Adam—whose head is buried in Sam's neck—into a tight hug that he puts all his love into.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says, kissing Sam's forehead. "And you're right. I didn't mean what I said to Dean. I wouldn't touch a hair on his head. I love him. I just--his attitude surprises me sometimes."

Sam nods, finally relaxing a little and melting into the arms of his alpha, the one he chose to marry.

"For now, he'll have to do as I say, no discussions. It'll be a good way to teach him to rein himself in. If he wants to talk about things, we can talk. But not this time, not after how he reacted."

Sam feels he has to agree with Cas on this one. He loves his son to bits, but Dean's temper flares easily and for his sake, he needs to learn to control it.

So Sam nods, and he leans in to kiss his husband. When Cas opens his mouth, Sam quickly slips his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. They continue to taste each other, kiss, lick, bite each other's lips for several minutes, hunger growing, only stopping to catch a breath. When Sam gets a little worked up, his breath laboring, it's a sign that they should stop before they lose control and pounce on each other, right here. Adam is still perched up on Sam's shoulder. Sure, he's quiet; he picks up on the good energy and basks in it. But there's no need to scar the kid by taking this any further. So together they put him to sleep in his crib, after Sam feeds him one last time for the night, then they lock themselves up in their room.

....

On the fourth afternoon of his banishment, Dean’s still angry he was kicked out. During his time away from home, he could only speak to his mom on the phone at night, briefly before going to sleep. Instead of spending the day next door then sleeping in his bed every night, his father had amended the plan, and on the first day, Uncle Bobby turned up at Dean's school to pick him up instead of Mrs. Harvelle.

As it turns out, his dad - sneaky Alpha - has decided Dean was to sleep over at Bobby's until his mom is out of heat. Dick move, if you ask Dean, but then _what does Dean expect from a man who's thinking with his dick these days?_

Uncle Bobby, an older maternal cousin of Cas, twice removed, told Dean that he'll also be his driver for the next few days. Dean is naturally taken aback by his dad's decision, but he knows he can't veto this one, not if he wants to avoid being maimed as per his dad's threat.

Besides, he loves Bobby, and would choose him any day over Ellen. At least, he'll get to spend some of his free time in Bobby's salvage yard, and maybe Bobby can teach him more about fixing cars. It wouldn't be the first time Dean spends a few days at Bobby's. He used to do it more often when he was 9 and 10. If he wasn't too angry and wasn’t missing his mom and Adam already, he'd even welcome the change of scenery.

When Bobby comes to school to take him home with him, he gives him a small duffel that his mom had filled with the essentials, plus a box of homemade double chocolate chip cookies, with a small paper plastered on the lid that read, "Miss you already. Love, mom xxx"

During breaks at school, Dean would sneak away with his current disposable "girlfriend," and make out and dry hump like there was no tomorrow. It always helped put his mind off things.

Now that this forced vacation from home is nearly over, he should be seeing his mom later this afternoon.

As per the arrangement, it's not Uncle Bobby that picks him up from school on the last day, but Ellen. She'll "kindly" drop him off to boxing training, his dad had explained on the phone the night before, where he'll spend the rest of the afternoon, then be home by early evening.

Castiel gave him the go-ahead to take a bus home following training. It's not unusual for Dean. Castiel has been slowly easing Dean into independence, despite his mom's protests, including occasionally letting him take his own rides to places.

When his boxing session is cancelled on very short notice, Dean decides to skip calling in ahead and just heads back home early. His dad will probably be on his way to grandma’s right now to pick Adam up, so that their life can finally go back to normal.

Despite his initial resentment towards his mom - and his resolution to boycott Sammy's delicious-looking cookies - he couldn't keep it up, and now he can't wait to throw himself in his mommy's arms and lock lips with him until they both can't breathe right and their lips are slick and swollen.

And of course, he ate all the cookies, inhaling every last crumb. They didn't disappoint.

Throughout his break, Dean actively avoided thinking about what his parents were doing; he knows what easing heats entails but trying to picture what's going on between Castiel and Sam would constrict his chest and make his eyes prickle.

When he reaches home, he uses his extra key to let himself in. The ground floor of the house is empty, but nearing the stairs to the second floor, Dean hears sounds. Part of him immediately recognizes them for what they are. Moans of pleasure coming from his parents' bedroom. Where else.

He lets his duffle fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Then Dean walks up the stairs very quietly. He's aware he might witness something he'll loathe and hate, but it feels like he's hypnotized, and before he knows it, he's standing by his parents' ajar bedroom door. It’s late afternoon; although the lights are off on the upper floor, the room itself is illuminated by the soft reddish light seeping from between the half-closed window curtains.

And now standing at the door opening, he can see everything. Through the gap between his dad’s thighs, Dean can see the long arch of Sammy's neck, his chin.

A very naked Cas is kneeling on the bed almost sitting on Sam’s face, his cock wedged deep down his mommy’s mouth. He is thrusting slowly. Sammy is moaning around his dad’s cock.  and his swollen lips, stretched around Castiel’s thick girth. The same swollen lips he was dying to plunder only a few minutes ago, the same mouth he's been fantasizing about for four days.

Sam himself is lying on his back, nude as the day he was born, feet planted on the bed, his knees obscenely spread wide, hips stuttering, a thick red dildo buried in his leaky hole, stretching the rim, opening him up - and Dean can see it all. His mom, with a cock fucking his throat, his body flushed and trembling with arousal, his full teats and his stuffed asshole exposed. Every few seconds his mommy’s toes would curl, his feet would just barely leave the bed and his soft belly pudge would tremble. Dean's trapped cock twitches and fights against its restraint; his arousal at odds with his rage.

Sam almost gags a couple of times on the meat stuffed in his mouth, coughs wetly around it but soldiers on.

Sam’s hands are curled around Cas’ thighs and his cock is standing up from a nest of curls. It bobs when he thrusts lightly into air, seeking friction that’s not there. His dick head is purplish and engorged, and his slit is drooling precome like a leaky faucet against his belly.

The room is stuffy, like it hasn’t been aired in a week, and it smells like sex and sweat, sickly so.

The bed his parents are lying on is messy, the linen already stripped and half falling off the bed; it's like a battle was waged there.

“Play with your nipples, go ahead, Sam. Finger your nips,” Cas says, his voice hoarse. His mommy whimpers, then slides his hands off Cas’ thighs and brings it to his soft breasts, pinching on his buds, making them rock hard. Tugging them, dragging his nails over them, moaning again. Seeing this, Dean starts rubbing at his own cock, now hard enough that it aches. He can't help it.

It makes him sick to his stomach to be getting off to this. But his mom is hot, and he's never seen him so raw, so vulnerable ... and open - figuratively and literally.

During the first few seconds of seeing this, pure scorching anger at his mom's betrayal warred with Dean's searing hot arousal, and the latter won.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Cas whispers again.

“Hmmm.”

Sam looks sick with pleasure right now, dying to get off; rub his dick against something, anything. His back arches off the bed, hips jackknifes a few times, and his dick bounces heavily. When his thighs spread even wider, knees falling to the side and a spurt of slick oozes from his hole, it makes him even wetter and the movement and the wetness push the dildo out.

When it slides free, his mom’s gaping hole is exposed, clenching on nothing as it tries desperately to close, the air tickling the rim.

Dean looks as Sam’s hole keeps twitching, alternating between gaping and narrowing, breathing, like a tiny mouth.

The sight is killing him. He starts palming his dick, rubbing it, over fabric. Then he thinks _to hell with it_ , opens his zipper and slides his hand inside his own briefs. He starts stripping his own length, up and down, quickly, punishingly. His lids want to close, but he can't let them; he needs to look.

The pain-pleasure of seeing his mom like this, being used by someone else, spread out like a two-dollar hooker, yet having a full view of his glorious body, getting this craving satisfied, is filling him with a combination of loathing, rage, and maddening arousal. He wonders, as he watches Sam's hole twitch, whether one day he’ll be able to take his mom like this. Then he wonders if his mommy is one of those omegas whose holes squirt when they orgasm.

Benny once showed him this porn clip on his ipad where the male omega orgasms twice, once releasing his useless seed through his dick while he was being impaled on an alpha cock, and another squirting like a girl, his man-pussy gushing a fountain of fluid in thick spurts ... erupting so hard he was practically vibrating, bucking off the bed like he was being electrocuted as his Alpha tortured his nipples and fucked his dick hole with a urethral sound. The porn actor passed out from the pleasure and intensity of it.

Dean would give half his life to see his mommy reduced into a trembling, incoherent mess like that, thrashing, spraying jets of slick from his hole after taking Dean’s cock.

His mom gags slightly around his dad’s prick, trying to speak. Castiel pulls back. “What?”

“Fuck me,” Sam croaks weakly.

“Come again, baby?” Castiel groans.

“Fill my hole, Cas, fill me up baby,” his mom says, sounding filthy and wanton. _Like a whore, Dean. Your mom is a whore, for another alpha._

“Is your asshole open enough for me?” It's rhetorical. His mommy's delicious pucker is stretched loose.

“Oh God Cas, yes. I’m so wet and open for you baby,” Sam hisses, chest rising and falling fast.

Castiel moves down the bed, his back still to the door and Dean. His parents are still oblivious to his presence.

He kneels between his lover’s legs, throws the discarded dildo away, grips a foot in each hand and pushes Sam’s legs back, at once opening him and folding him in half. Sam’s knees almost touch his shoulders, his bare feet in the air, toes spread. His ass is splayed obscenely.

Cas lines himself up then pushes in, his saliva-coated cock stabs Sammy’s hole and in one hard thrust, Cas is balls deep inside his mommy’s ass.

He growls like an animal, Sam cries out, his back arching, then Cas blankets him, and Sam burrows even deeper into the bed.

Cas, now lying face down between Sam’s spread thighs, is chest to chest with Dean’s mommy, their mouths breathing the same air, touching from forehead to groin. Dean can see where Cas’ dick is buried in his mommy’s ass, the knot filling up quickly ... ballooning ... with Sammy’s rim red and impossibly stretched after eating up the fat knot.

“You okay, honey?” Cas whispers.

“Hmmm. Y-yeah.” Sam’s eyes are filled with adoration, but not the type that he gives to Dean. Sam looks at Dean like Dean’s his _son_ , like Dean’s something to be protected, like he promises to love and protect Dean forever. But Sam looks at Cas like he hand-picked every star just for him.

What Dean would give to have Sam look at him, and only him, this way. 

“Yeah?” Castiel smiles, and then he leans down and says something else Dean can’t hear. Dean, even right outside the door, seeing his mommy gaping open on Castiel’s dick, can’t hear it.

Love you, he thinks he hears. Forever and ever, promise.

“I know,” Cas whispers again, punctuating his words with soft pecks to Sammy’s lips. Sam breathes heavily for a few seconds, and Dean thinks his mommy’s too gone to respond, then he hears it, a mere soft whimper. “C’mon, you gonna show me?”

With the words, Castiel gives Sam a hard thrust, rocking Sam's body backwards. The bed creaks. Then another. _Creak_. Slow, yet solid thrusts that are driving the breath out of Sam’s lungs. He cries and whimpers, but the sounds get swallowed up by Cas’ open-mouth kisses. Cas goes slowly at first, kissing lovingly, sucking on Sam’s lips, suckling on them as he alternates between thrusting deeply into Sam and corkscrewing his cock slowly, like he’s massaging the insides of his mom with his dick.

“Whose hole is this?” Cas speaks, his lips brushing Sam’s spit-soaked ones. “Huh, baby? Who does this hole belong to?” Cas asks, his breathing ragged, circling his hips, stabbing his cock inside Sam’s ass.  

“Yours,” Sammy hisses, breaths hitching. “Yours, Cas." _Kiss._ "Only." _Kiss_. "Yours. All of me, baby.”

Hearing this, Dean can't hold back the tears he hadn’t realised had filled his eyes. It’s almost like a betrayal. Dean’s been holding on, somewhere, for the crazy hope that maybe Castiel and Sam don’t actually love each other any more—even though it’s stupid, because they have never given him a reason to think so—and the sad thing is that he can’t make himself walk away from this. It's setting his body on fire, at once filling his senses with physical, dirty, earthly pleasure and clawing at his soul and tearing his heart to pieces.

Cas grazes the backs of his hands along Sam’s arms, then takes Sam's palms in his and raises Sam’s hands over his head, stretching his arms, lacing their fingers together, holding Sam in place and locking their lips. Then he starts pounding into Sam with abandon.

Soon his mommy is thrashing, trembling, screaming his moans into dad's mouth, sobbing, asking dad to give it to him in those moments when their mouths separate to breathe, asking dad to plunder him. And that Cas does ... until Sam is mewling and coming untouched between them.

When Dean hears the sounds his mommy is making as he reaches orgasm, he comes, his own orgasm barreling through him, his seed erupting into his shorts. He bites his fist to stop from crying out loud as he continues to milk his dick with his other fist for every last drop, tears still falling freely.

Dean has loved Sam his whole life, _but that doesn’t seem to be enough,_ he thinks. Castiel has loved him for even longer.

When he's done shooting, his mom’s arms and legs go lax and his head falls back. He might have blacked out a little, Dean can't tell for sure. Cas sits up, holds on to Sam's ankles and spreads his legs impossibly wide. He continues fucking into him in the same punishing pace, and Sam takes it like a ragdoll, his eyes closed, mouth open, his tits, belly and soft cock jiggling with the movement. His body is rocked violently up the bed.

 _Cas owns him, fucks him like he owns his body,_ Dean thinks and Sam gives it all to him; like a used toy, he’s lying back, in a haze and letting his body be consumed roughly ... _violated._

With a loud groan, Cas comes too, shooting his seed deep inside his mom, soiling his beautiful hole and asserting his ownership yet again. His chest falls forward between Sam's outstretched arms. He blankets Sam. Then he ties. And Dean can't stand there for a split second longer, can't watch them literally bond, tangled together, not knowing where one begins and the other ends, lying in each other’s arms, cuddling, laughing softly, whispering or making out and trading the same breaths as they're glued together.

Now that would just be pure torture.

And Dean feels he just had his fair share of masochism for a whole year, thank you very much.

So Dean falls back, stumbles to his room, his cock still heavy and hot, painfully sensitive, between his legs. He shuts his bedroom door, removes his soiled shorts, throws them in the laundry and steps into a fresh pair. He turns the lights off, then slips tiredly into bed.

His body is sated, but his head is still wrapping itself around this storm of pleasure that roared through him like nothing he’d felt before and the tsunami of pain in his chest.

In a first, he suspects he might be delusional about how far he can claim his mommy. The dark thought takes his breath away. He suddenly feels small and worthless. He dreams about his mom every night; the dreams soothe some of his needs and ease his unquenchable desire for Sam. Intricately woven fantasies, with beautiful images of them together, bonded in every way. But every night, his mom sleeps in someone else's arms, drinking pleasure from someone else, promising his love and devotion to his father instead of him.

In a first since he started feeling _this way_ towards his mom, Dean feels sorry for himself.

His eyes begin to tingle again and he lets the silent tears fall. Under the dead weight of that mind-blowing (more like mind-fucking) orgasm, he can't fight sleep any longer. And as sleep washes over him, he secretly wishes it would end up swallowing him into its cocoon for good, propelling him into a deep darkness where there's no pain or hurt or love to mourn over.

So Dean lets go and slips into unconsciousness, his eyelids drooping and his tear-streaked face pressing into the pillow.

His sleep is dreamless.


	6. Dreams, blood and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My soul was stuck rotting in a hollow sleep until you woke me.” - Klaus, Maiden Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sam's dream is heavily inspired by a short scene in Fusanosuke Inariya’s Maiden Rose.
> 
> 2\. Good people, I'd like to hear from you if you think the narrative is dragging too long. Honest feedback please, I won't break (or stop writing altogether, promise). And feel free to discuss the story in comments, if you like it enough to do so. I love reviews :-)
> 
> 3\. Every once in a while, while you're reading, try and please refresh the page. For the next couple of hours, I'll be going back to proof-read and copy-edit the new chapter. Also, the chapter will be beta'd later. So if you refresh, you'll more likely to get the most updated/cleanest copy. Thanks in advance.

“That wasn’t a big forest, Sammy,” she giggles, “don’t look so scared.”

I can finally see the family house far off in the distance, at last, and I hear birds singing. I release a sigh I didn’t know I was trapping, my shoulders sagging, the terror that tightened my chest back in the forest losing its grip as quickly as my irises are catching the light of this otherwise bright day. The adrenaline withdrawal is making my knees go weak. And I know, now that the forest is behind me, that my fears are mostly irrational.

“But it was very dark,” I insist to her, if only to save some face.

“It’s grandfather’s forest ... nothing to be afraid of,” she says, voice bright and fearless like always, eyes green with a little mischief. She lives for these moments of recklessness and adventure, plunging into them, both feet in, and with all her heart.

I hate and love her for it.

“Hey, what’s over there?” I say stopping in my tracks, and holding her back.

“Hurm, sky. Trees. A squirrel--” she responds humorously, stating the obvious, never giving up an opportunity to poke fun at me some.

“To the west,” I cut her off and nudge her shoulder, raise a finger and point to our left.

 _Silence_.

“An unknown wind,” I whisper.

“And the promised land,” she says, suddenly gone solemn, gazing to where my stare is locked. My eyes flicker over to her. I watch her, and that look on her face? It's as if the howling wind is calling her name. Her green eyes are glistening. In the light of day, the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks stand out. She's so beautiful. I gulp audibly, hold her hand, lace our fingers together and tighten my grip.

Sometimes, when she scares me, I cling to her.

A moment later, her hands wriggle free anyway. She slips from me.  “Aren’t you coming, little brother?”

And suddenly she’s so far away from me, out of reach, golden locks blowing away in the breeze. I know what's coming next and I start to panic.

She walks towards the wind.

“No, wait. Don’t go. Stop. Wait, Mary.

... MARY!”

Sam jerks awake as his own hoarse voice tries to tear its way through the veil separating dream and reality - he comes to with a sharp intake of breath. He's covered in sweat and tears and it takes Sam a few minutes to get his bearings. He can still feel her, like they were actually together again, like she was real. He can smell her, and God, he misses her so much it breaks his heart. He’s too afraid to stir, or blink, or inhale a little sharply lest the memory of the dream - of her face - elude him. With all his might, he's trying to hold on to her vivid image for a little longer.

He remembers his own voice from the dream, pleading with her not to leave him alone, and more tears fall.

 _Sam, Sam._ The litany continues. "Sam!" Someone is speaking to him, but their voice feels like it's being carried from miles away. Sam is still in his head, tears pouring, trickling onto the pillow on which his head is laid. He’s still naked; after all the love making, he was too spent to move.

Until he woke up a minute ago, Sam hadn’t even realised he had drifted off.

Suddenly, a weary-looking Cas comes through the bedroom door, looking a little perturbed. So it's Cas who called for him, Sam thinks. “I went checking on Dean, and he’s in his bed, but he looks ill and he’s not waking up," he declares.

Sam immediately jumps off the bed, all traces of his dream - and the nostalgia, longing and sense of loss that came with it - vanish. These feelings are replaced abruptly by dread and fear. Sam stands up so quickly that his vision swims, but he grips the night stand to steady himself, then, without wasting another second, reaches for his sweats.

“Easy, Sam," Cas says quickly. "The boy's breathing, he’s probably alright. He’s just feverish, I think, and out of it,” Cas adds, seeing how distraught his earlier comment has made Sam, who's now as pale as a white sheet. _Damn_ , he shouldn't have scared him like that.

“We don’t know that,” Sam says sharply, quickly throwing a t-shirt and sweatpants on, going commando. “For all we know, he took a hit to the head in training and he’s sustaining a serious injury. If he’s unconscious--”

“I didn’t say he’s unconscious, Sam! Not exactly," Cas says as they both pad hurriedly to Dean’s room, Sam still barefoot.

Once inside, Sam runs to his son’s side and starts patting Dean all over, looking for any sign of injury. He slides away the covers to take a better look, searching for bruises, or breaks, feeling Dean's neck, skull, chest, wrists, legs and feet for wounds. Sam's touch is less frantic, more clinical now. Dean is sleeping in his boxer briefs, so Sam doesn't have to remove any clothing. Dean doesn't protest or so much as wince in pain when Sam prods with his fingers.

Sam lets out a huff of breath. “Nothing looks broken to me, Cas, no bruising, nothing ... Dean, honey, wake up. Dean!”

Dean’s chest is wheezing, though, his face is tinged red, and he only stirs or lolls his head fitfully when Sam tries to rouse him. Sam can also feel the tremors going through his son’s body now, so he pulls the thin covers over Dean.

Sam himself is breaking in cold sweat.

“Cas, quick, bring me the extra blanket from Dean’s closet,” Sam says. Then gently, “Dean, sweetheart, you’re scaring mommy here. Come back to me. Open your eyes, come on.”

As Cas throws the extra cover over their boy's shivering body, Sam says, “I told you Cas, I told you, a million times over, these boxing classes are dangerous. They should stop. Dean could be sustaining a head trauma ... g-god forbid ... a concussion or internal bleeding, or-or something much worse. God, I’m never letting him go back there again."

"Don't you think his coach would've called if something bad went down?"

Sam ignores his husband's attempt at reassurance.

"Dean! Dean, honey.” Sam is losing his grip fast.

“Sam, just breathe, I highly doubt De’s in any mortal danger. Baby, he's woozy, but I bet it's just a fever, that's all."

" _Just_ a fever?"

"I mean, if he were injured, it would--” Sam gives him a murderous look, and Cas lets his words die out. He knows better than to argue any further with Sam when his wife is in this viciously protective mode, and, let's face it, he's worried too. “Alright, I’ll go give Coach Hendrikson a call and see if Dean's taken any hard punches to the head. Or if he fell or something. Let's hope not though. Maybe the kids sparred. Check his temperature until I'm back, Sam."

Minutes later, Cas returns. “There was no training today, it was cancelled.”

"It's 102," Sam says, stomach churning.

“So a boxing injury is ruled out then," Cas says.

Sam is still trying to lure his lethargic son into consciousness. He climbs into bed with him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulder now that he knows something like a head trauma, a hit to the kidney or heart, or internal bleeding is off the table.

He's still dead worried, though.

“I wonder where he’d gone to then? Why didn’t he call? Do you think he might have come home early and sneaked past us?”

“Here! His eyes are fluttering open,” Sam says excitedly, not paying one bit of attention to Cas’ mutterings. “Come on sweetheart, wake up for mommy, love. Yeah. That’s it, beautiful. Show mommy those gorgeous green eyes.”

First, Dean becomes aware of murmurs, whose intensity ebb and flow. They scratch their way into his brain.

His head still feels like a brick, his lids heavy and tightly sealed, his breath short, and his brain is groggy. His chest, for some reason, is whistling.

He realizes he’s lying in his own bed and the murmuring belongs to his parents. He forces his eyes open in response to his mommy's voice - it takes a few tries, but the room finally comes into view.

His mom is propped up against the headboard, lying beside him in bed, with Dean’s head in his lap. Sam's face is hovering over his. His mommy’s soft hair is falling like a curtain around his face, and his brows are knotted together in concern.

Dean looks back at his mom through droopy eyes, then past him to his dad, standing at the foot of the bed, and both look worried.

 _What’s the big deal?_ Sure, he feels like roadkill. But Dean doesn’t understand all the fuss.

His mom begins caressing his cheek. “Hey,” he says, with a small smile.

Dean just flutters his eyes; he’s finding it hard to both keep his eyes popped open and get his mouth to work and form words.

His throat is parched.

His mom feels his forehead again, then lays his palm against Dean’s cheek and asks softly, “how are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Water," he says, and Cas runs out and comes back a couple of minutes later with a glass of water. "Fetch some paracetamol, Cas," Sam says, and his mom helps Dean sip on the liquid, and then after, swallow the pills.

“W-what?” Dean says when he's done, can barely speak around the lump in his throat. His voice feels weak when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Cas sighs in relief. Now that his son is talking, then starts explaining.

“You’re just running a fever, baby boy,” it was Cas’s turn to speak. “I found you here looking like death warmed over, fast asleep. Naturally, your mom and I got worried. Ehm, we didn’t hear you come in.”

 _Of course you didn’t_ , thinks Dean with a tinge of bitterness, _you were too busy fucking each other stupid_.

“Your cheeks look flushed, and you were groaning in pain when we first tried to wake you up,” Sam says, then his voice breaks as he continues. “You wouldn’t wake up baby, no matter how hard we nudged. You scared me there, sweetie.”

His mommy looks consumed with concern and nothing like the wanton slut moaning in bed earlier. He leans in to place a few feather-light kisses on Dean’s nose, and the corner of his mouth. He’d turn his head away ... from the lips that were wrapped around Castiel’s cock ... but he’s too damn tired to move. So he settles for recoiling, stomach turning like he’ll throw up.

“Let’s put some fluids into him, Sam,” Cas says, a shadow of discomfort flickering through his face at the intimate kissing.

Cas also hates that _anything_ that goes wrong with the world can somehow impart a touch of guilt on his wife. He can see it, like it’s Sam's fault Dean has fallen ill.

Castiel of course - and he knows Sammy is probably thinking it too - is mulling over the possibility that Dean’s body got affected by Sam’s waning heat once he came back home; the remnants of the intense, electrifying wave of omega arousal that hit Sam like a freight train, following a nearly three-year-long dry spell, must have shaken the young alpha up a bit.

If it’s the case, then as the remains of Sam’s heat subside and die out during the night, Dean will automatically get better, probably perfect by morning.

“Do you want anything to eat, darling?” Sammy purrs, still caressing his cheeks.

“No,” Dean croaks. “Not hungry.”

“If his fever doesn’t let up in a few hours, I’m driving him to the ER,” Sam turns to Cas saying, his voice becoming suddenly no-nonsense.

“Let’s just wait and see it through the night. Give the pills a chance to work. He’ll be okay, I promise,” Cas says, leaning more and more towards the idea that this is caused due to Sam's heat.

Sammy is being a drama queen, Cas thinks.

Sure, he’s a little worried about his son too, but now that Dean’s up, there’s no need to be frantic about it. Besides, Cas is due back at work early tomorrow, and as much as he wants to make sure his son is fine, he also wants to have some rest in order to be useful for himself and everyone. Following four days of barely leaving the bed, keeping his Sammy satisfied, orgasm after another barreling through them, Castiel wants to collapse into a restful sleep.

“I don’t think I can wait all night,” his mommy says, voice hard.

“We’ll see what happens, Sam ... I’ll go heat up some soup, you stay with him.”

“Get me the baby mo--oh, scratch that. Worry over De is making me stupid. Forgot Adam’s not here.”

This gets Dean’s attention.

“Adam isn’t back yet?” he asks, clearing his throat, which is still scratchy.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” his mommy says.

“I was about to go out and pick him up, De, when I realised you don’t look so good,” Cas explains. “Sam, I think I better call mom and Naomi and ask them to take care of him for one more night.”

“You better, yeah. God knows I miss the adorable pipsqueak, but Dean needs me more right now,” Sam says, without hesitating. “I’m not leaving your side until you’re 100 percent all right, sweetie,” he says to Dean, placing a chaste kiss on his mouth. Castiel grimaces, but he doesn't comment; he knows better than to take Sam on this now.

Dean doesn't believe Sam just kissed him with the same mouth that was slurping up come from his father's cock. _Yuck!_ If they french kiss, Dean would probably taste alpha semen. _Double_ y _uck!_

“I’m fine,” Dean croaks weakly, roughly rubbing his mouth on his naked forearm to remove all traces of that kiss. There's still some good old Winchester stubbornness left in him despite his condition, and he still doesn't want to be around his mom right now, with the pain so fresh, and the memory of what he saw so close.

It doesn't help that his mom is showering him with affection. He simply can't dismiss the images that keep attacking his brain every time Sam touches him.

“No, you’re not, buddy. You better listen to your mommy,” Castiel says, and his voice is poison to Dean’s ears.

 _What the fuck ever,_ Dean thinks, but keeps his lips sealed.

It’s one of those extremely rare times Dean feels his body is burning hot, not just from the fever, but from being so close to his mommy - and **_not_ ** in a sexy way. He smells nauseatingly like Cas right now; the Alpha's scent is permeating through his mommy’s body.

An Alpha scent cannot be washed away easily. It sinks into the skin, settles in it and it’ll probably take a few days and several showers to fickle out.

To make it all worse, Dean catches a glimpse of his dad’s fresh claiming mark on the side of his mommy’s neck, and another love bite sitting low on Sam’s collar-bone right above his chest.

Sammy’s deep V-neck shirt is putting all these hickeys on display.

Dean wonders if Sam chose this item on purpose to show off his alpha's mark claims. _The bitch._ He's probably got more love marks peppering his body.

His mommy is braless right now, the thin white t-shirt he’s donning is thin, and thanks to his lactating breasts, Sammy’s nipples are showing behind two translucent spots on the front. His mom’s dusky as-good-as-exposed dark pink nipples poking obscenely through the material only reminds Dean of how Sam was finger fucking them earlier today as he writhed underneath Castiel in their marriage bed, his greedy, wanton hole fluttering and gaping, begging silently for cock.

The image makes Dean’s vision go white all of a sudden. In panic, he sits up and he starts heaving, and then he empties the meager contents of his stomach. Thankfully his mom was right there with a bucket under his chin, which he'd fetched as fast as lightning once the heaving started.

It’s embarrassing as hell to throw his food back up like this in front of his parents, the man he loves, least of all. And yes, his dad chose this minute to walk back into the room with the hot broth, just in time to witness his humiliation. But Dean's too drained to care right now. And at least he didn’t get sick all over himself or Sam. _Small mercies_.

When he's done puking his guts out, his dad whips out a clean wet towel for Dean to wipe his mouth with, and then hands him more water. Dean takes a few gulps.

Before getting a chance to lie back down, Dean's suddenly snatched by two giant arms, dragged across the bed, and is being pulled snugly against his mom's chest. Dean lets out a small yelp and finds himself sitting between Sam's spread legs, his back to Sam's chest. Sam's upright and leaning against the headboard.

Dean can feel his mom's groin against his lower back and his breath in one ear. Sam winds an arm tightly around him and urges him to relax.

Dean stays stiff, however, and if he weren't too drained, he'd forcefully wriggle out of his mom's arms.

If you think that a mouth that was just overflowing with vomit is super gross and untouchable, think again, because Sam doesn't think twice before whispering, "Come here," turning Dean's head back, and placing a quick peck on his lips. For some reason, his mother can't stop touching and kissing him in front of Cas tonight, and it's making Dean's cheeks burn. Dean rolls his eyes, and quickly rubs the back of his hand against his lips.

Cas gives his son this look; probably the man thinks Dean is turned off by his mom being extra schmoopy and overbearing. And he is, but for private reasons, and not because he wouldn't normally welcome this kind of attention to his lips.

To add to his mortification, Sam asks Cas to hand him the bowl of soup with the spoon, and very carefully Sam takes them, each in a hand, and brings a spoonful of the hot soup to Dean's mouth. "Come on, open up," Sam says, like spoon feeding his grown-ass 14-year-old son is the most natural thing in the world.

Again, this morning, Dean would've welcomed the cheesy gesture, but right now it makes him want to run for the door.

"No friggin' way," he says, and crosses his arms tightly, feeling trapped by Sam's giant arms bracketing his upper body. He's in fact sandwiched between Sam's torso and Sam's hands now holding the food right in front his face.

Cas is momentarily amused, what with Dean looking like a caged animal, blinking rapidly as he stares at the spoon like it's going to eat him alive. With all his snappiness, hard shell and strong opinions, it hits Castiel that Dean is still painfully young.

"Don't be a baby."

"No, mom, I'm being the exact opposite of that. Cos only babies are spoon-fed like, you know ... like babies!"

The fight is coming back to Dean now that there's something he can rebel against.

Sammy giggles; he's happy his son's attitude is back in force, it means he's alive and kicking, and strong enough to be a pain-in-the-ass. And God knows Sam needs this. He almost suffered a stroke the moment Cas told him Dean wasn’t waking up, back in their room.

He doesn't even want to recall the degree of panic those words stirred in him.

So he doesn't. And instead keeps torturing Dean with the spoon, which now Sam is pressing against a thin pair of tightly-sealed lips. Dean can grow up all he wants, or think he has, because to Sam, he'll always be his baby. And right about now, Sam needs to reassure himself his baby's here; the spoon-feeding is partly for him.

When his son opens his mouth to protest yet again, Sam uses the opening - literally - and shoves the spoon into Dean's mouth. Dean, of course, huffs and puffs but Sam eventually manages to spoon feed him every last drop.

Dean avoids eye contact with his father.

When they're done, Cas takes the empty bowl away, and moments later, Dean is fast asleep again.

Sam gently extracts himself from behind Dean. He goes to grab a quick shower. Cas keeps a vigilant eye over their boy during.

When he's all clean, Sam heads back to the room and finds that Cas is already dozing off, head lolling on one shoulder. Sam takes pity on his man, walks up to him, places a soft kiss on his mouth to wake him up, then tells him to move to their room.

Sam himself peels the covers on Dean's bed, gets under them, and sinks into the bed beside his resting son.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Cas?"

Cas drags his hands through his hair. _Sam can be too much sometimes._

"He looks better now, Sam. And baby, it's a small bed, and you're a Sasquatch. The boy needs his space."

"Not tonight he does."

Cas sighs heavily.

"Just come with me. He'll be fine, I want you in my arms tonight."

"Can't do, hon. I'm not leaving his side until he's out of the woods."

"He sort of is, I can sense that his fever is letting up already. And you must be weary yourself."

"I'm alright, trust me. You go get some rest, honey."

"Sam!" Cas says, voice colored with frustration.

"What?"

"What if it's the last of your heat that has caused this? Have you thought of that?"

"Of course, but my body is recovering by the hour, Cas, I can feel it. If my heat did cause this, being close to me won't make him any worse than he is now. And if it's not, being watched over by mommy will certainly help him sleep better."

"He's already fast asleep."

"Cas, please!"

"God, alright," he says, scrubbing his face with his hand. "You two are unbelievable, you know that?"

"We are, and you love it, come here you big baby and give me a proper kiss." Cas's shoulders slump in surrender, then he walks up to the bed, and presses their lips together. Cas kisses softly at first, then he picks up some speed, curling a possessive hand around Sam's neck, licking at Sam's sensual lips, nipping the upper lip, then suckling on it, plunging his tongue into Sam's mouth. He catches his husband's tongue and practically slurps it, the kiss quickly turned sizzling hot and sloppy. _God, Cas can never get enough of his wife. He often wonders what he's done right to deserve him_. Sam's head falls back, a little, his lips quirk into a smile, mid-kiss, then he moans into Castiel's mouth and pushes at his chest gently.

"Go, Cas," Sammy whispers sweetly. "Before we start humping like teenagers in our son's bed."

Sam adds playfully that they've had enough of that for today, and Cas, begrudgingly, agrees. He's beat.

"Ehm, Sam," he begins as he leaves the room, before he shuts the door. He doesn't know why he feels he needs to say this but he does. Before he hesitates, it comes out of his mouth, but he doesn't meet Sam's eyes as he speaks. "Just ... just don't take your clothes off while you sleep here, okay?"

"Woah, what? Why the heck would I--Where is this coming from, Cas?"

He doesn't know how to respond to this, clearly not thinking past his request.

"Cas?"

"I don't know. Forget it. It's a stupid thing to say. Go to sleep. I'll drop by to check on you both before I head out tomorrow."

"Yeah, you do that, Cas," says Sam, giving his husband a tight-lipped smile. Nodding his head, he adds, "Love you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Love you back!"

...

Sam wakes up at 6:00 am, curled around his son. He checks Dean's forehead and it's cool, and his breathing is even. They're okay now, _phew_. He allows himself to relax. His husband is right; his heat was the culprit.

Sam is still tired, but something has made his body restless, perhaps another dream that he now can't remember because he can feel the shadow of something lurking, and the memory of the other dream is re-surfacing, now that he's not as crazy worried about Dean as last night.

Sam pads to the restroom, splashes his face with some water, brushes his teeth, stares at his tired reflection in the mirror for a minute, runs his fingers through his unruly morning hair, finally sighs heavily and moves to the kitchen to brew some coffee.

Cas will probably be up any minute now. Cas always wakes up at un-Godly hours because he likes taking his time getting ready for work. Sam's hardworking husband is always first on his desk, and sometimes, the last to leave the office. When Sam knew him, Cas was being groomed to be his older brother Michael's right hand at their family-owned law firm. Cas had began studying law only to drop out and shift interests to marketing and PR - that was after he'd insisted on partnering with Sam, of course, and his father had told him that there was no place for him in the family business if he insisted on Sam, or their life. For Cas, there wasn't even a choice there. Sam was it for him. It seems like a lifetime ago when this happened, and although Cas and his father made up, Cas refused to change horses again, and stuck with his career choices.

Now, Cas is one promotion away from being the PR director at his company, a medium-sized enterprise. This promotion carries the promise of a much better pay and traveling opportunities and Cas is working so hard to get it. Sam is immensely proud of how dedicated Cas becomes when he's set his sight on something, though for long, Sam hadn't appreciated spending long afternoons and evenings on his own, or taking care of a kid, alone, thanks to Cas's sometimes ridiculous working hours.

Sam won't lie, he's pulled his share of tantrums in the past, ones that would make his hot-blooded son proud. He sometimes resented how demanding his husband's job could get. Sam is generally supportive and all, but sometimes, even for a family man like Sam, it's hard when it all falls on him; the cooking, cleaning, taking Dean to and from school plus his training, helping his son with his homework and projects, and now he does all that with a baby on his arm. Cas helps when he can, but naturally, with a full schedule, it's not nearly enough.

That being said, in the last couple of years, with Dean stepping up and becoming a source of comfort for Sam, the brunt has been eased. He's still doing most of the work in the house - being the stay-at-home wife between them and with Cas providing - but it's now different. Now, he looks forward to the afternoons with his son, to their talking, to having his son's head on his lap, and to basking in all the love Dean has started to provide.

There was a phase between Dean being a cute and adorable baby, and him being a loving teen again, when the boy was snappy, dismissive of his mommy's affections and sometimes downright rude and hurtful. Sam has endured this dark phase, alright, trying to be patient as he could.

He got that his kid was growing up and fighting for a semblance of independence, but Sam was not happy.

He felt he was losing his kid - to his friends, to his obsession with boxing, to the first signs of adulthood - and Sam knows he's being selfish, but he loathed it. When Sam would try to kiss Dean or take him out for an evening of fun "mommy and son quality time" and his Dean would recoil or refuse, Sam would genuinely feel hurt; sometimes he'd even cry in his room like a jilted lover and he'd judge himself for it later, reprimand himself for being too attached.

But now, with Dean being everything to him again, not becoming embarrassed to be "joined at the hip" anymore (regardless of what his friends at school say), and not holding back his affections, Sam's in heaven.

His son's newfound passion for their relationship and their growing intimacy has breathed life into Sam.

Sometimes, Sam feels he can't get close enough - feels like he wants to burrow inside of Dean's skin and sink into him ... He wishes he could take Dean back into his womb in order to keep him safe, sound, nurtured and part of him for good.

And even though Sam dreams of the day when his son would grow up and start his own family, he honestly can't imagine being away from Dean for more than a day or two, let alone giving him up to someone else for life ... hand him over to a beta or an omega who probably doesn't deserve him (and no, Sam doesn't even need to see who Dean would end up with to know that they don't and won't ever deserve Dean's beautiful heart or million-watt smile).

The sun shines out of his son's ass, _dammit_ , and anyone would be immensely lucky to get him! If it was up to Sam, his son wouldn't mate with anyone before he was 40. He's a suffocating mom, so? _Bite him._

Sam smiles to himself.

"Someone looks relaxed this morning," Cas says, walking into the kitchen, already suited up. "And oh, the coffee smells good. Morning, honey," he adds and swoops in for a quick kiss.

"Morning."

"I dropped by Dean's room, thought you'd still be there too. He looks much better," Cas remarks.

"He is, I think. But I'm letting him skip school today."

"Right before the weekend? Well, lucky him! That's three off days in a row. Some of us don't have the luxury, sick or not. Which reminds me, I'll probably be staying late today. Don't wait up. From the deluge of incoming mail, it looks like the pile of pending work is high up to the ceiling. I'll have a tough day ahead of me."

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that, come here," Sam says and pulls Cas into a quick hug.

"I'll call Naomi, and see if she can be a good soul and drive Adam back here later tonight. If she can't, do you mind picking him up yourself?"

"Sure."

Sam begins preparing some sandwiches for the road for his hubby, breakfast on the go, while Cas scrolls through his phone, probably catching up on his mail already. Cas usually drives for at least an hour to get to work; and in bad traffic, you can add an extra half hour for good measure.

"Cas," Sam says. "Remember Mary?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "Erm, yeah. Well, from you mostly. I mean from your stories."

Silence. Sam's face looks sombre, all of a sudden.

"What's going on, honey? Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," Sam says. "Remind me to show you a picture. Ehm, she looks, ah looked, a bit like Dean. The, ehm, grass green eyes." Sam's voice cracks. "The f-freckles. Even the temper, ha! She was so goddamn beautiful, Cas. I wish you'd seen her, man." Sam's tears are running down his face now.

"Sammy, come here baby," Cas says and takes his wife in his arms, and Sam starts sobbing softly. For the life of him, Cas has no idea where this is coming from, or why Sam has suddenly decided to dwell on his sister's memory. But he doesn't need to understand, except that his wife is downcast right now and he needs him, so he holds him tight until Sam's calm again. Perhaps it's lingering emotions from the heat, who knows?

When the waterworks are done and Cas is off to work, Sam's head feels weary, so he goes back to Dean's room and crawls into bed with him.

...

Dean wakes up to a heaviness at his back, and a solidness wedged between his legs. Spatial recognition takes him a moment, then he realizes he's in his bed, with his mom spooning him.

Sammy's arms are snaked around his waist, one palm sits low on his naked stomach (he's still in his boxers), and Sam's nose is buried in his hair; Dean can feel his warm, even breaths. Sam has pushed one of his long legs between Dean's own, and so their limbs are now tangled together. And, hold the phone, Sam is shirtless from the feel of it; his boobs are squished against Dean's upper back, and Dean can sense some wetness, probably from his mom's hard and leaky nubs. He can feel those too, poking gently.

And of course, Dean - like the typical teenager he is - has popped some wood while sleeping, and Sam's proximity is not helping in this area. The covers are now bunched around their feet, so there's nowhere to hide either.

Trying to extract himself without rousing Sam is difficult, but no one can accuse Dean of not trying. Of course he tries and fails miserably, and mommy stirs, and pops his eyes open. Sam takes his arms away from beneath Dean and sits half up, propped on an elbow. He gently turns Dean so he's lying on his back and he takes a look at his boy. Dean's dick is at full mast, and his face heats up, because mommy will see his wood right about now.

But Sammy's focused on his face and eyes for now, and once Dean meets his gaze, Sam shoots him a blinding ear-to-ear smile, dimples and all. "How's my boy this morning?" Sam says, carding his fingers lovingly through Dean's hair.

"I'm OK," Dean says, gulping, and turning his head away. He's super embarrassed, and still can't get himself to go easy on his mom; he just can't with what he saw last night. His gaze catches the clock on the side-table, and it’s way past the time for school. He guesses his mom has decided he's off. See, today of all days, Dean wouldn't have actually minded school - if only to get away from his mom, get his mind off things and ask his "girlfriend" out after school, you know, to get lucky ... to blow off steam. _Always to blow off steam, nothing more_.

"You look it and I'm glad ... oh God, Dean, I was so scared baby," Sam says, tilts Dean's head back, and attacks his mouth. Between them, kissing on the lips is on the table now, but Sam's kissing right now has an edge of hunger to it that wasn't there in earlier kisses and which does nothing to help with his lingering phallic problem, down there between his legs.

Despite the temptation to reciprocate and deepen the kiss, Dean pulls back, burying his head further into the cushion to get away from his mom's mouth. But his mom's face is right up in his, and their lips are still almost touching when he manages to finally free his now throbbing lips from Sam's own.

His mom's gaze is locked with him, and Sam immediately senses his son's flinching. "What? What's wrong, Dean?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

And before Dean gets to respond, his mom's eyes accidentally flicker lower, and he catches the sight of his son's prick tenting his boxer briefs obscenely. Dean's face flares with heat and his cheeks are now tomato-red.

"Oh," Sam smiles, amused. "Erm. That's nothing to be shy about, sweetheart--"

"MOM! Just drop it," Deans says, looking away mortified.

"I will if you give me a big old kiss, woody wood pecker."

"Jesus, MOM!" He pushes him away, attempting to get up. Sam steals another kiss before he releases his son, not catching on the real reason why his son is extra snappy and a tad bit aggressive. Sam probably think he's irritated only for being caught with a stiffy, so he leaves him to be without any more torture, saying he'll be at the kitchen, "preparing second breakfast." Dean doesn't get the joke, huffs a breath then sneaks into the bathroom for a shower, in which of course he gives some relief to Little Dean.

When he's done, he pops into the kitchen - he really wishes he could go on a hunger strike if only to avoid being around his mom, but he's just too damn hungry to make any such protests right now. His stomach is rumbling noisily enough for both of them, though the bottomless pit that's his stomach has a different agenda.

He plops into a chair, and his mom puts a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of him. As he grabs his first bite, a digital thermometer is pushed into one of his ears by his mom. "Hey," Dean yelps.

"Gotta double check, sweetheart." The thing beeps, and his mom smiles when he reads it. "All back to normal." He ruffles his hair.

"Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" His mom asks, confused.

"Touching me, alright? Stop it," Dean snaps, then digs his fork into his food and starts eating.

"Well, I thought ..." His mom's voice trails off; Sam's bewilderment at the change of attitude clear on his face. His brows knit together, and his face loses some of its brightness. He takes a chair himself, next to Dean. In his peripheral vision, Dean can see Sam gazing at him, probably searching his face for answers. Sam bites on his lower lip, then he finally asks, voice quivering, "Sweetheart, are you still mad?"

"About what?"

"You know, because you had to stay away, at Uncle Bobby's? I mean, we talked on the phone, you and I, and the last time we did, you sounded like you were over it, so I thought--"

"Well, you thought right. I'm not mad. Not anymore. In fact, I don't care."

"Dean--"

"Can I please finish my food in peace? I've had a rough night."

Sam nods sympathetically, but his face is dark and sad now. Silence descends on the kitchen room for a bit, until Dean takes the last bite, then his mom starts asking if he wants some tea, juice, an apple, asking him what he wants for lunch already, obviously desperate to make conversation.

"For God's sake, stop fussing, mom," Dean snaps again.

"What is wrong with you?" It's Sam's turn to get irritated, running his hands nervously through his hair.

"What is wrong with YOU? You won't leave me alone."

"I wanna make sure there's nothing you need, here. And you're touchy and I don't know why. Are you still not feeling okay, you know, from last night?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine! If you ask me if I'm fine again, I swear I'll start throwing punches!"

"DEAN!" Sam's nostrils flare, the colour draining from his face, and his eyes start watering. "Just go. Okay? I'm sorry for caring."

Sam doesn't know what's up, but he thinks he has an idea. When Dean was away, he sounded "okay" on the phone but in reality, he was probably just missing them. Now that he's home again, he's back where he left off; shutting down after his hands were forced, or so he believes. Sam backed Cas, but he hates the fact that his son was made to take a break from his own home against his will. And he gets that Dean's angry.

Dean leaves the kitchen, then holes up in his room for a couple of hours.

When he comes back down to the living room for some TV, he finds his mom there, sprawled on the couch in a dress, in the white dress he bought a year ago, and which Dean had only seen him wear once. He knows what his mom is doing; and no, he won't let Sam off the hook so easily. He friggin' tore his heart out, made him feel like he only has eyes for him, then stood silent as his dad sent him away and gave himself to Cas completely.

Dean walks into the room like he hasn't noticed the dress, though he's sure Sam caught the initial surprise on his face.

"Hey," Sam says, to get his attention, then pulls his feet back to make some room for Dean to sit. Dean just makes a non-committal sound and places himself at the other end of the wide couch.

"What's up, sweetheart?"

"Here to watch some TV," says Dean. He was oscillating between dying from boredom and biting his nails in frustration back in his room. He flicks the TV on, and after some searching, settles on the wrestling channel. He likes wrestling. He'd like to take it up next year, besides boxing, and perhaps add a martial art to the combo.

Learning the art of combat does it for Dean, more so than group sports.

"Come here, Dean. Want you in my arms," Sam says, voice apologetic and hopeful, arms reaching out.

Dean gives his mommy a level gaze, then turns back to the TV. "No, I'm good, mom."

"Sweetheart, just talk to me."

Sam sits up, and scoots closer to Dean. Sam's intoxicating smell is right in his nose. The dress' skirt, which boasts a high slit, leaves Sam's legs and thighs exposed. And his mom is not doing any effort to cover up, letting the skirt's sides fall open and the dress already reveals Sam's strong arms and his back. His mom's inner thighs are not touching; not used to dresses, he doesn't remember to put his knees together or close his legs when he sits, and the sight of those legs accidentally teasing him like this is making Dean's mouth water.

"There's nothing to talk about," he forces out, and avoids looking at the naked skin, or he'll lose it. He's willing his anger and resentment - his disgust at what he saw - to take over.

"Dean, please, don't shut me out like that. Not me," Sam says and takes one of Dean's hand in his own.

Dean quickly snatches it away, "I'm not ... just, just let me be."

Sam's puppy dog eyes start watering, and that's it, Dean can't have this anymore. He stands up to leave. Sam catches his arm. "Please don't walk on me like that. Not before telling me what's wrong."

Dean shrugs off his mom's touch and pulls away.

"I know it's the past four days. You're still mad at me. Fine, get angry at me, shout, throw those punches if you want, but don't push me away like that!" Sam says, eyes pouring. _Like he's the victim here_ , Dean thinks. _The audacity._

"What do you want me to say, mom? That I'm angry! Alright, I'm angry. But what difference does it make? You know what? A big fat nothing," he says then starts walking quickly towards the stairs, to seek the sanctuary of his room again, to hide in his "cave."

"And stop pretending like you care that much!" he adds, as he starts climbing the stairs, his mom now following him.

At those extra words, Sam flips, from weepy to somewhat angry himself.

"Don't you dare say that, Dean. You of all people should know how much I care about you!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really!"

"Didn't look like it when I was forced to hole up at Bobby's, while you were here ... argh! You know what? Just get away from me."

When he reaches his room, Dean goes in and attempts to close the door behind him, but his mom holds it open, then pushes back and squeezes himself in.

"I'm not going away until we resolve this!"

"There is _nothing_ to resolve."

"So what? You're gonna cut me off? Stop talking to me, again?"

"Maybe I’m gonna."

"Yeah, well I won't let you."

"It's not up to you."

"God, Dean! I'm your mom! It's me! Look at me, you can't do this, not to me," Sam walks right up to him, as he speaks, face inches away from his own, and despite his height and anger, Sam feels small as he stands there pleading with his son, practically begging him to take him back. He can't bear this coldness, he can't let his son dismiss what's between them in anger like that.

They're more than mom and son, they're ... soulmates.

"You're being too hard on me. And for what, Dean? For pushing you away so you won't get hurt. You saw what happened to you last night, and in case you didn't put two and two together yet, that fever was triggered by my heat."

"Bullshit."

"It's not, Dean."

"Stop blaming it all on that heat."

"I'm not. And I'm not lying. It _was_ all for you, and now you're being a baby about it, and trying to punish me for my biology."

"I'M TRYING TO PUNISH YOU FOR BEING A DIRTY WHORE!" Dean screams at his mom. And he flinches at the words the moment they leave his mouth, but it's too late to swallow them back.

Before he gets a chance to whip an apology, a sharp slap lands on his left cheek, and it burns. Neither parent has ever laid a hand on him, not like that, never. He freezes for a moment, so does his mom who looks as shocked as he is.

Dean's eyes prickle and suddenly a blind rage overwhelms his senses. His right fist clenches and he feels like punching ... his mom, or someone, anyone, anything. Before he knows it, his fist is raised, ready to land on his mom's face; it only takes Dean's mind a tenth of second to backtrack and decide, no, he won't - can't! - go there, can't hurt his mommy, and so changes course. Instead of jabbing his mom's face, he hooks his arm and his fist swings into the vanity mirror, right beside Dean.

His punch is solid, sharp, filled with hot rage, and the mirror shatters noisily on impact. His mom jumps and shouts his name. He's in a daze, and before he realises it, he's rushing out of the room ... trying to get out of the entire house.

He's already downstairs, steps away from the door, when his mom manages to catch up with him. When Sam fails to force him to stop, he throws his weight at Dean's back, hugging him from behind and they slump to the ground together, with Dean locked tightly in Sam's arms. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," his mom repeats over and over right in his ears, his face wet with tears and so is Dean's.

Dean suddenly realises there's a throbbing excruciating pain in his fist, and when he looks, his hands are dripping blood, and there are at least a couple of pieces of glass still wedged in his flesh. He holds onto his wrist and brings his hand to his stomach, wanting to hide it, wanting to disappear himself, get swallowed by the Earth. The lower part of Dean's shirt will soon be soaked in red. He's angry at his mom, but he's also angry at himself, for calling his mom, "a dirty whore," for almost hitting him, and most of all, for loving him so consumingly it's eating him up inside.

His mom's litany of apologies doesn't let up. And now Sam is trying to grab the injured hand to inspect the damage, sounding teary and frantic with worry. "Let me see it, De. Sweetheart, you're bleeding. Let me see," he sobs. Dean holds his injured hand tighter to his body and doesn't let go. "Let me see it," Sam repeats, his tears soaking the side of Dean's face. Then Sam starts kissing his face, brushing his lips back and forth against Dean's cheek, nuzzling his neck, his ear, and Dean leans into the soft caresses and squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn't understand how this man can put him together and break him like this, only to patch him up again.

Sam continues to cover Dean with kisses, desperate, open-mouthed, kisses that are wet with salty tears. "I'm sorry." He's kissing Dean's eyelids, the side of his brows, his cheek, he tilts Dean's head then places feather-light kisses on his nose, grazes his lips against Dean's lips, his chin, down to his neck, and his collarbone. His lips don't leave skin, grazes, pecks, nibs softly. "I'm sorry, please, there's so much blood Dean, please, you're killing me here sweetheart. Please, De."

Dean opens his eyes, and this is what he sees: his mom's hair falling over one side of his face, his mother's cheeks blotched with dark pink, and his eyes are tired and dripping with tears, lips red and swollen with kisses.

His mom locks their lips together again. When Dean starts speaking against his mouth, Sam pulls back an inch, to allow him to.

"I saw, mom," he says.

"Saw what, baby?"

"I saw you and dad together. Yesterday."

At first his mom doesn't look like he gets it, then Dean sees the exact moment when he does. His eyes widen a little, and his mouth goes slack. They remain speechless for some moments, then his mom nods his head, and more tears fall. "Okay ... Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, Dean."

And Sam doesn't even know what exactly he is apologising for; what his son saw, or the fact that what he saw happened in the first place? He won't explore this right now, he tells himself, he just needs to make sure his son is fine, that he hasn't broken any bones, that nothing cut into muscle or injured nerves. His son's fist is sturdy from training, but still, he's broken skin, and there's a lot of blood, and Sam's getting nauseous with worry. He'll even punish himself for that slap later; or accept whatever punishment Dean wishes to inflict, whatever it takes for Dean to forgive and hopefully forget.

"No, you don't, mom. You don't get it."

But Sam does, he thinks. It would be disturbing for anyone to see his parents together like _that_ , and being so close to his mommy, Sam knows it must have been harder on Dean. ... _Or what if?—Could it be?_

Then the possibility hits him, and he feels a little dizzy with it.

"Dean," he whispers. "Di-did it, you know, turn you on?"

Dean gives a little nod, and Sam buries his face in his son's neck. He feels like it's his fault somehow. It must be eating Dean up, he must think he's dirty and wrong for getting aroused from seeing his parents making love. _Poor Dean_ , Sammy thinks and holds his son tighter.

"Forget it, De ... just let it go, baby, alright?" Sam says soothingly, placing yet another kiss on his son's cheek. He just wants this out of the way in order to tend to Dean's wound. Nothing else is as important right now. "Now, please baby, let me take a look at your wrist. Feel my heart? How fast it beats? I'm so scared Dean, so let me see how deep the cuts are. Please baby."

Now that he said it, Dean feels a wave of tranquility wash over him. It doesn't change what happened, sure, but nothing could, anyway, so it's better to get it off his chest. It may also give him an opening, some time when they discuss it again, to tell his mom how he really feels about him, and how as his rightful alpha, he can't tolerate his sexual relationship with his dad any longer. That he _won't_.

If it takes him some pain, tears, and a mangled fist to get there, so be it. His mom is worth it all.

Dean's shoulders finally sag and all the fight leaves his body, his head falls back on his mommy's shoulder, and he tells him weakly that his hand hurts, which it does, _like_ _a_ _bitch_. For a second, he also wonders how they'll explain all this mess to Castiel, but decides they'll cross this bridge when they reach it.

Hearing his son acknowledge the hurt to his fist is Sam's cue for action, and he springs up, helping Dean up with him. Dean can walk just fine, but his mom snakes an arm around his waist and supports him all the way to the kitchen still.

After inspecting the now swollen hand, his mom removes the shards of glass carefully, washes and cleans the wound as best as he could, then ices it, and declares he's driving Dean to the ER. Dean hates hospitals but reluctantly agrees this time; he's badly bruised and tender, and Dean can't risk leaving an injury like this untreated, being a boxer and all. Sam gives Dean something for the pain, discards the dress and changes into one of his proper outfits, and rushes them out of the door. "Baby, hold it to your chest. Keep it above your heart. De, don't move it."

Sam insists on helping Dean get into their SUV, so he wouldn't rely on the hand in any way, fastens and locks the seat belt for him.

In the hospital, after an hour of waiting, Dean's hand is nicely patched up. He's suffering a minor fracture, and two of his fingers were misaligned, which the ER doctor fixed. And it hurt like hell. He was also put into a splint, which means he'll be off training for at least 2-3 weeks, depending on how fast he heals. And at his age, the doc expects it'll be lightening fast.

On their way back home, Sam stops for ice cream, and Dean feels he's being babied. "It's not for you Dean, it's for me," his mom says, squeezing his healthy hand. Ever since they left the ER ward, Sam has been constantly keeping this hand in his, clutching tightly, fingers interlaced, unless when he's driving.

In the car, Sam puts on some Metallica, for Dean's benefit, and even hums along from time to time. He occasionally curls a hand around Dean's thigh and squeezes. Or looks at him, and throws him a (somewhat sad) smile. And his mom can't stop apologizing.

"I'm sorry too you know," Dean says, eyes on the ground. "For calling you, you know."

"Forget it, honey. You were angry, and you had a right to be. Just--just try to reign your anger a little, baby, from now on. Take deep breaths when you feel like reacting harshly. For you."

"Yeah."

"Dean, about what you said earlier. About what you saw ..." _a pause_. "Ah, I don't want you to feel guilty, honey. It happens, it doesn't mean anything. You're young. When I was your age, everything turned me on."

Dean stays silent.

"De, what I'm trying to say is, don't overthink it. There's nothing--"

"I watched. I didn't just--I stood there and watched."

"Dean."

"When I saw you come untouched, I jizzed my pants," he says without even a side glance at his mom. He shivers at the memory of Sam spread out, moaning, writhing, shivering with want, caught in the woes of desire, so pretty and vulnerable, and so soft. Dean suddenly feels shameless about his small confessions. _This is his omega, he should know how he riles him up, what he does to him._

Besides, it's nothing compared to the whole truth. And he needs to prepare Sam for it. _So yeah, baby steps._

Sam doesn't respond to this, swallows audibly and keeps staring forward into the distance, eyes on the road. Dean, too, stays looking ahead.

A moment later, Sam takes Dean's uninjured hand in his, brings it to his lips, and places the softest kiss there. He stirs the wheel with his left, and keeps holding Dean's hand with his right, then he interlaces their fingers together and brings their entwined hands to his heart. He shouldn't drive like this, so he slows down significantly. But he doesn't pull the car over.

"Don't hurt yourself like this again," Sam whispers softly. He's talking about that punch to the mirror. "It's not a request, De. No one, and I mean no one, is worth hurting yourself over. ..."

Dean doesn't respond, so Sam squeezes the hand wrapped up in his. "Are you listening?"

Dean nods.

"Not me, not anyone, De. You hear me, kiddo?"

"Yeah, yeah mom, I hear you."

Sam places another kiss on his son's fist, still closed around his, then takes them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maiden Rose is a yaoi manga and the dream at the start of this chapter is a homage to it. I borrow a few lines from the original dialogue in Inariya’s story.
> 
> If you’re not familiar with the work, you can watch the anime here: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x23wekn_maiden-rose-ova-1-english-subbed_lifestyle
> 
> You can read the manga here: http://www.mangahome.com/manga/maiden_rose 
> 
> However, you don’t need to read/watch it in order to understand anything related to the dream though - there’s no Mary, or Sam there :D and in turn the background story that connects these two. Maiden Rose and this are of course two very different narratives, and they don’t overlap anywhere, except perhaps in the "forbidden love/lust" theme.


	7. - Intermission -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a warm thank you ...

I just wanted to thank you profusely for all the love. The kudos/likes (200!!) and your sweet comments have been keeping me going. This my first slash fic, so naturally, I felt really insecure writing this initially  ... so I'm pleasantly surprised with the feedback and I appreciate all the support, definitely. 

I didn't get a chance to update over the weekend, but tonight I should start writing the new chapter, and I'm crossing my fingers it won't disappoint. I will put it up as soon as I can. 

So there, this is just a short something to say thank you all, and to share this collage of this story's Winchesters. :-) 

Love,

Joanna L.

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.

.

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Artwork: [Pompei77](http://pompei77.deviantart.com/) (bonny) - art repost here and on tumblr done  **with the artist's permission**. Do not repost please.

Also: Here are some yummy [GIF](http://rebloggy.com/post/gif-gifs-supernatural-sam-winchester-season-8-by-carol-samedit-spnedit-8x10-sp/92742943580)s of shirtless Sam ;-) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I started sharing some SPN art on my tumblr: http://joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/ Everything there is borrowed (with credit) except that last collage. And I expect I'll start making my own manips for this story - once I find some time to do that.
> 
> 2\. The story is not beta'd yet, so do feel free to bring my attention to typos or grammatical errors if you find any and I'll be happy to correct them (and apologies that they're there to begin with). That being said, I go back and edit a lot. So if you've been following from the beginning but happened to go back to the old chapters recently, you'll find they've been cleaned up.


	8. Luck, love and lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving you but this." — Pablo Neruda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a relatively small chapter compared to how long I write - for me, it's not a stand-alone but rather the tail end of the previous chapter. And a taster of what is yet to come. Plus, I've included a new collage of this story's Winchesters;-)
> 
> I had intended to squeeze more events into this, but I didn't want to keep you guys waiting.
> 
> Friendly reminders:
> 
> 1\. If you're reading this right after it's posted, refresh, refresh, refresh ... my little elves are probably correcting typos in the backend as you read.  
> 2\. Please keep the comments/suggestions/critique/corrections coming :-)

Three weeks after Dean breaks his own fist in a rage, he loses his virginity.

But three weeks before he loses it, he lies in his bed and reflects on how far things have gone after a long day that involved a meltdown, a visit to the hospital followed by ice cream and lots of cuddling with his mommy, and finally a lazy evening spent with Sam and Adam, who came back home with Aunt Naomi later in the afternoon.

Naomi didn't stay for long, and Dean pretended to be asleep while she visited, mainly to avoid questions about his hand. When she was gone, Dean made a re-appearance and greeted Adam who seemed fascinated with Dean's splint; at once curious and suspicious about exactly how his big brother got his "big ouchie."

During their playtime, Adam eventually turned his "Deedee hurt" statement into a sing-song—he'd say it, and giggle, and in the course of that, remind Dean how much he'd missed the little drunk ... because that's always how he seems like to Dean: just a tiny drunk man. And God, does Dean love his tiny little brother.

Before bed, both boys nursed from their mom—Sam was happy to accommodate, and feeling visibly at peace with his two babies tucked safely in his arms. It seems that Sammy got past the fact that Dean is way past the age of breastfeeding very quickly. Now his mother almost takes it for granted that during their private quality time, when Dad's not around and when it's time for a feeding, Dean would want it too. Sam is still not used to being topless when he lets them nurse, but at least now he automatically loses either the shirt or the bra.

And today there was something more; an air of guilt was engulfing Sam, and in retrospect, Dean feels that his mom was perhaps trying to make amends through every small action, and breastfeeding was probably one way Sam was saying sorry. It's likely why he let Dean continue to suck at his tits long after the milk stopped dribbling. He also let Dean feel them up, and let him enjoy the hot pull of his mouth on his mom's nipples, licking and blowing on the spit-wet buds, occasionally biting, and accidentally leaving what Dean can only term a hickey (if only to continue to fuel his own sense of victory) in the meat around one of his mommy's nips.

When his mommy gasped with the bite, Dean apologized quickly,

"Shhh, it's okay mom, I'm sorry I hurt you."

His whispers blew hot breaths over the sensitized, sore nipple when he spoke them. Dean then brushed a soft kiss to the nipple to soothe it, then quietly returned to milking Sam dry. With Sam's lower lip trapped between his teeth, eyes scrunched shut in pain, the man looked delicious and worth all the trouble Dean is going through to get him all to himself.

When they were done, Sammy put Adam to sleep, then helped Dean clean the mess in his room. His mother insisted that there was no way to keep their argument from Castiel, especially with the damage done to Dean's hand and to the vanity. Dean gets that, of course. But they agreed they would skip details, water down Dean's attitude in the re-telling, lose the parts about Dean witnessing Sam and Cas together and Dean still feeling bitter about the "heat break" he took from home.

They concocted something. Sam would tell Cas he was trying to talk Dean out of his boxing training, like he wanted him off the sport forever. The thought of Dean getting hurt or lost scared him, he'd tell Cas, and he got a preview the night before and he didn't want to go there again, ever.

There's already a lot of truth that they felt they could build on; Sam had always felt uneasy about Dean becoming a boxer—especially since he was so good at it that his coaches had high hopes for him and are pushing him so hard. Sam had complained abundantly to Cas. He even tried to convince Dean to take up basketball, swimming, or something like tennis or squash instead. Cas had refused to pressure Dean into abandoning something he loved just because his wife was being overprotective, and Dean had laughed off his mom's fears, adamantly refusing to even discuss switching sports.

Dean remembers saying he'd rather die of head trauma than take up something like tennis.

 _Tennis, mom? You're friggin' kidding me!_ he had added indignantly.

So it's believable.

It's also very likely that Dean would flip out if his mom insisted too badly—and maybe, according to their new story, his mom insisted and flipped out a little too.

Dean knew that this was no way near a free pass. He knew he'll probably get lectured by Castiel at best and penalized somehow anyway.

But this was better than the truth, which would probably just enrage Castiel, or worse, raise his suspicions about Dean's true feelings for his mom, and in turn, put a damper on everything Dean has been planning with regards to his mommy.

Of course, he didn't reveal to Sam that last detail, but it's what he believes.

Sam himself has his reasons for the elaborate lie. Cas hates to go to war over something twice, or needlessly protract discussions over an issue that he believes has been settled, and Sam knows that. If he hears it as it is, Cas will take Dean's lingering anger and persistent attitude over something that's said and done (at least to Cas) as a personal challenge to his authority, as both father and Alpha. Sam hates the tension a situation like this could create between his husband and son. Now, as Dean is growing up, Sam can sense that Cas's Alpha sensibilities are becoming sharper, much more vigilant to signs of rebellion or dissent. And Dean is not easy, already. He's passionate, and he marches to the beat of a different drummer.

Sam thinks the less confrontations between these two in this delicate juncture, the better. He's tired of standing between them.

And the whole affair with witnessing Sam and Cas being sexually intimate? To Sam, that has already been classified as their "little secret" the moment it was divulged and there was no need to even discuss it out loud again and make everyone feel awkward.

....

Stretched in his bed, hugging his wounded hand to his chest, Dean goes over his last conversation with his mom, and smiles. He thinks the more secrets and lies he and his Sammy share, the closer they'll get, and the farther away his mom will drift from Castiel. Or so he hopes.

And that's when he hears the rising murmuring coming from his parents' room, two doors away, and realizes Castiel is now becoming privy to his earlier meltdown. Dean knits his brows in concern as he hears a door creak open, then footsteps approaching his room, and from what he can gather based on sound alone, it's Castiel and apparently he wants to wake Dean up in the dead of night to talk about what happened. Cas can't wait until morning, he says, and Dean knows that's bad.

But he also knows that his mommy simply won't let this happen, and Dean's proven right a moment later. He can hear his Sammy coming to his defense, whispering that his son has had enough and that his day was quite hard already. Castiel won't listen, apparently, and Sam finally lets it out (unaware that Dean is probably still awake, perking up his ears on the other side of the closed door, spying on their semi-hushed conversation, even if he's still lying in bed).

Well, the doors are thin.

"I hit him, okay," Sam hisses.

"You what?"

"It's why he lost it. I slapped him, Castiel," Sam repeats, and his voice sounds teary, which is probably why his dad remains silent for a few moments registering this.

He can hear his father release a sigh.

"Sam, that's still not--"

"No, Cas. Don't. I've never laid a finger on our kids before, and after ... you know, how I was raised, I swore, I'd never-- But today, I did, Cas, and I feel awful, and I wish I died before it happened. And I don't know how to make it up to him. I feel responsible for what happened, alright? For everything: the pain, all the blood. My God, he bled so much. And I made him cry, and I never thought—God. So ... please don't make it worse."

Cas stays silent, letting it all sink in. He knows just as well as Sam does that violence is not in Sam, so for him to lose his temper and strike... it must have been as traumatizing for Sam as it was for Dean. Punishing Dean, again, would make it more painful for Sam; would be like punishing his wife along with Dean.

Lately, Cas has been feeling as if something is slipping out of his hands. He doesn't know what it is, and because of that, he can't control it - Sammy's changing, and he can't put a finger on how he is, or why, and he's losing his grip on Dean too. In the past, Sam and him were more of an united front, but now things are not as black and white. His thoughts trail off as Sam speaks again.

"Look, Cas, you can have a talk with him tomorrow. In the morning. When he's up and well rested. After he's had his first meal. We're not sadists. He made a mistake, alright, but he was thoroughly punished for it. Please, Cas."

"Alright. Okay. Backing off, Sam. For you, honey. This time, I'll let it go, but only for you," Cas says, emotionally exhausted from all the back-and-forth. This time, and last time, and probably two more times, Cas thinks. God, Dean is getting away with a lot these days.

"Good, thank you, darling." Phew.

When Dean hears the unmistakable sound of kissing, his stomach churns a little, but at least he feels this is for his benefit, to help his dad calm down and forget he has a bone to pick with his son. Cas is probably not happy his hand was forced yet again.

Dean also feels for his mom, so he'll go easy on Sam, too. Sure, he doesn't like that everything ends with him and Cas kissing, and man, that slap burned, and not just physically. It shocked Dean to the core, but it looks like his mom is already torturing himself over it; the guilt and the pain in his voice is potent, and his sorrow touches Dean.

So Dean lets it all go, soaks up the sensations of fatigue, the tingling relief from the pain pills he popped earlier, and finally drifts off.

...

When Dean comes to, it's still late at night. The light from the street lamp swept in from the gap in the curtains attests to it.

There's a dip in the mattress, and a weight settles down beside him—it's what’s woken him up. When Dean flutters his eyes open, he can see it's his mom.

"Sorry, go back to sleep. I'm just checking on you," says Sam, and his voice sounds a little broken. Dean squints, letting his eyes get used to the dim lighting, then he sees it; his mommy's red-rimmed eyes. It's either Sam was crying or couldn't sleep.

"Hey, something wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Is your hand alright? Does anything still hurt?"

Mildly. It's mainly a persistent dull throbbing, Dean thinks, but he isn't going to say it, seeing how torn up his mommy looks already. "Nah, mom, it's all good."

Sam cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "Do you know how much I love you, Dean?"

"Yeah, mom ... I do."

"Good, because I'd never hurt you sweetie, never," Sam says, and a single tear falls, and he quickly wipes it away.

"Mom, come here. Come to bed," Dean says, sits up with a little difficulty, then holds both his healthy arm and injured arm out for Sam. And Sam complies. He slips under the covers, and into Dean's arms, lying between his legs, his torso resting on Dean's hips, and Dean spreads his thighs to accommodate his mom.

Sam hugs him like he's trying to hide inside his son's much smaller frame, his head buried in his son's neck, and his arms curled tightly around Dean's waist, lifting him slightly off the bed. They hold each other, and Dean can feel the hot tears against his neck. He starts stroking Sam's hair, kissing his forehead, and rubbing his nose against Sam's cheeks until his mom's breaths even out and calm down.

Sam turns his head up, and asks, "Do you forgive me?"

"Mommy, there's nothing to forgive. I'm yours. You can do anything you want to me," he says, his softness now in direct proportion to his cruelty in the morning when he'd called his mom a whore and pushed him away. They're now gazing at each other, breathing the same air, lips mere inches apart, and Dean takes the opportunity, and slots their mouths together, kissing hungrily.

His mother lets his own lips be plundered.

"Mom, open your mouth," Dean whispers urgently between kisses, feeling bold.

"Dean,"

"Come on, I wanna taste you." Kiss. "Please." Kiss. "It'll make me feel better." Kiss. "Safer. Loved." Kiss. "Open ‘em."

Sam does, and the moment his mommy's lips part, Dean stabs his tongue inside, running it along Sammy's tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth.

He takes Sam's tongue between his own teeth then starts sucking on it, slurping, pulling like he wants to devour it already.

His mom squirms a little. Dean can feel his surprise and reluctance at being kissed like this; so consumingly, like no son should kiss his mother, like they've never kissed before. But Dean pushes past his mother's hesitancy, and continues to eat his mouth like a piece of coveted dessert.

"Dean," Sam manages to groan between kisses. His grip on Dean loosens at first, then he feels his mom trying to nudge him, then trying to push up from the bed and away from his mouth. But Dean's hands are around his mommy, and Sam won’t dislodge or throw him off knowing he could hurt his son's bandaged hand if he does. So he tries to wriggle, but without much heart.

Every time Sam tries to pull away, Dean moves with him, follows his mouth with his own, re-slotting his lips over Sam's and pushing his tongue inside his mom's mouth again.

Dean rests his injured hand, the one in a splint, against Sam's shoulder and neck, but his other hand moves down and slips under Sammy's shirt.

His mom is not wearing a bra, and his breasts are soft and accessible. Dean mounds at one breast, groping it, then he pinches a nipple, taking it between thumb and index fingers, willing it into hardness. "Dean, sweetie. What are you doing?" Sam rasps when his mouth is momentarily released. Dean attacks his mouth again. When there's another break, Sammy asks him to "hold on, wait," his lower lip still trapped between his son's voluptuous lips as he speaks.

But Dean's not listening.

And Sam doesn't try anything beyond the feeble, small attempts to escape Dean's not-so-tight clutch.

Dean knows this is happening too close to his confession of getting turned on watching his mother get fucked, but a) he can't fight it, b) he's sure he can get away with anything right now with his mommy feeling so incredibly, irredeemably guilty.

Feeling even luckier, Dean grazes his hands down Sam's torso, along his abs. He dips a tip of a finger in Sam's navel, then continues down, tracing Sam's treasure trail, until he meets the fabric of Sam's sweats. His touches are not exploratory, but urgent, hot and claiming.

His hand changes directions and he curls it around Sam's waist instead of going lower. Dean can't go there yet. Too soon.

But as a compromise, to himself, he lays his now sweaty palm against the dip of his mommy's back, right above the swell of his butt, where a thin pair of sweats are sitting low, nothing beneath them from the looks of it. Just this thin item of clothing separating Dean's hand from Sam's most private parts.

He's still making out aggressively with Sam, and while his mom may not be reciprocating as enthusiastically, he's not totally passive either, despite calling Dean's name between breaths and begging him to "stop" as his son's hand wanders.  

Dean's hand moves from Sam's lower back and dips lower, then, in a moment of pure uninhibited passion, he thinks fuck it and pushes his wandering, insistent fingers past Sammy's sweats and into the crease between Sam's ass cheeks. He wants to ravage and rape that secret spot ... touch a finger to Sam's sweet, pretty pink pucker, then slip it inside, claim Sammy, finger fuck him into confessing he's his alone. Make him writhe, and squirt. Drool cum and slick as he talks dirty to him. Wet his own pants from the stimulation, and finally orgasm with Dean's name spilling from his lips like a prayer.  

But it happens differently, and so quickly, one push, and he's barely touching Sammy's hole before his mom panics, pushes back and bucks off the bed and him.

"Oh God, Dean, you shouldn't ..." Sam runs his hands through his hair, looking for words. His face is flushed, eyes still teary, his lips wet, swollen and bitten, wrecked from the ravenous kissing and nibbling they were subjected to, and Dean feels a wave of pride course through him at making his mommy look so used, so deliciously confused and edible. His cock is already twitching from the passionate kissing.

"What's wrong, mom?" Dean takes one of Sam's hands in his, laces their fingers together, and pulls him closer. Sam reluctantly follows. Dean kneels on the bed, to be closer in height to his now standing mommy, then he lays his chin on the swell of Sam's breasts, gaze never leaving Sam's. "I like tasting you, mom. You taste so good," Dean says, lacing his voice with sweet innocence, but, it's still rough with want, and his breath is coming fast. He knows he can't mask that rasp.

He's not hiding his intent per se, physically he definitely isn't, but he's challenging his mom to put a name on his actions, to accuse him of taking things "too far."

He knows Sam won't. Because even as he's being groped and fondled and kissed like a lover, a big part of Sam will still refuse to see Dean as anything but his sweet, innocent, loving son, who perhaps can't differentiate yet between feelings of love, and feelings of lust.

Dean can live with that misperception—if it gives him what he wants.

"Would you prefer it if I don't kiss you again? At all?"

"No!" Sam responds without thinking. "I mean, of course we can kiss, but not, not like this, sweetie."

"Like what?" Dean asks, and pushes himself up a little in order to place a deep kiss on Sam's mouth. He releases his lips with a pop, then asks again, "Huh, mom?" Another lingering kiss.

Sam's eyes close with each kiss, and again he doesn't push Dean away. In fact, he snakes his arms around Dean and hugs him closer, as Dean cradles his mom's head and presses feather-light kisses against his lips; his chin, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, and his collarbone. "What's wrong with this?"

Meanwhile, Sam doesn't answer all his son's non-questions.

"Forget it, De. Just when you touch me, if you do, baby ... just don't—" Don't what? Sam thinks to himself. Is he going to tell his son to stop touching him so intimately, so beautifully because it's wrong? ... and is it wrong? Should there be taboos between mother and son, if they're as close to each other as he and Dean is?

Who puts the rules?

And it's not like Dean means anything by it, Sam reasons. It's not like his son is consciously stepping over a line. He probably doesn't fully understand that love manifests itself differently between parents and their kids; no matter how deep it runs, Sam muses, that there are still red lines. Dean is too pure, and whole, and too true to his love, to understand what these man-made boundaries were created to accomplish. Besides, despite knowing how to win people, Dean is generally emotionally withdrawn. He hasn't learned to dispense his feelings except with family. Sam is partly responsible for that, drilling into him that it all comes down to them: his parents and his brother. So this type of love, it's all Dean knows.

Sam himself doesn't understand why society has decided it's not OK for mothers and sons to love each other so unconditionally, like lovers or better ... this love, Sam knows he can't have with anyone. Not even Cas. Because not even Cas was born out of his womb. Not even Cas, for all his perfections, had been inside Sam for nine months. It wasn’t _Cas_ that was literally part of him, it wasn’t _Cas_ that fed from his breasts for years, and it wasn’t Cas who walked his first steps towards Sam, spoke his first words to Sam, and loved Sam even before he knew what love was.

For all his life, Sam has been Dean's all, his center of attention, his rock, his friend and parent. Sam would never be this for Cas.

Sam has witnessed every little detail of Dean's life, and it has not been so for Cas. Even as in love as they are, Sam still keeps certain things—memories, stories, dreams—from Castiel. He bets it's the same for Cas. But to Sam, Dean is an open book. He knows his son inside out.

For all their love and longing, Sam's and Cas's passion for each other pales in comparison to how tied up together and how tightly connected Sam and his first born are. Sam's heart could burst from all the love he has for his son; it fills him up, overtakes him, and sometimes, maddens him.

He'd never confess it out loud, but sometimes Sam doesn't even understand his feelings for Dean completely.

The closest thing Sam has to this all-encompassing love is his love for Adam. And even with loving Adam so warmly and deeply, Sam knows he and Dean share an uncanny special bond. He hates to admit it, but sometimes he feels even Adam can't exactly compete, at least not in this respect. Perhaps when Adam is older, things will change and Sam will be able to forge a similarly strong bond with him. 

So, bearing this in mind, should he still push his son away, deny him things and school him into accepting the tenets of this flawed society - the same society Sam himself struggles with day in day out?

Should he tell Dean it's wrong, dirty, to seek comfort and security from kissing his mother, or touching him, just because he's not his Alpha, because he was designated only the role of a "son," or just because it was decided long before Dean was born that one man and only one should touch Sam this way? What? Should he tell Dean to restrain his natural impulses, train himself to fear and sexualize even the purest expressions of love, instead of taking them for what they are: displays of deep affection and unwavering love?

It's too late in the night to ponder on this any further, Sam thinks, so he just places a final chaste kiss on Dean's cheek, detangles himself from his son's embrace and asks him to go back to sleep, so he could get some rest. He needs it.

"Sleep with me?" Dean asks, refusing to let his mom go. "Please?"

Sam's shoulders' sag. "Ok, just for a little bit. Maybe until you go back to sleep."

Foot in the door, Dean pauses.

"Mom, one more thing."

"What, De?"

"I'm feeling pretty shaken. From this morning. And I just wanna—" Dean trails off, on purpose. He knows what he's doing to his mom.

"What? What do you want, De?"

"No ... You won't get it ..."

"Try me, sweetie."

"Mom, I'm suddenly scared to ask."

"Hey, don't! Scared from me?! We don't censor ourselves around each other, you and I."

"But you might take it the wrong way. After today ... I just can't—"

"Dean, there's nothing we can't say to each other. Hear me, buddy?" his mom says, voice serious.

Dean gulps audibly, but doesn't speak.

"Baby?" And the word is beckoning softly.

"Can we sleep together without clothes on? Just for tonight. Earlier, I felt my heart was racing, like I was on the verge of panic, mom, and I needed you. But I didn't wanna come to your room," he lies. "I just wanna feel your skin, mom. I want to feel us touching."

"Oh."

"Forget it, I'm—you know, being a baby. Maybe even a freak for wanting this."

"Hey, no, no, no. It's just that I'm not sure I'm comfortable—I'm. If. How it looks, De. If your dad wakes up and comes here looking for me ..."

"Ah ... It's fine, mom." Whatever. It's always his dad standing in the way.

"Look, don't. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel close to someone. I'm your mom, and best friend, remember? We're it for each other. I'll tell you what? I'll help you take your shirt and sweats off. You can sleep in your shorts. I'm going commando, so ... erm, I'll just take my shirt off and keep the pants. We'll snuggle closely. You'll still feel me, I promise."

"Ok, mom, thank you." Good enough, Dean thinks.

When they're out of most of their clothes, Dean lies in his mom's arms. Both of them are on their sides, with Dean lying on his good side, of course. His mom makes him promise to come and call him anytime he feels panic taking over him: "It's not negotiable, De. You feel like that again? You come straight to mommy. I don't care what hour it is." Dean promises, and when they settle, cuddle closely, he finds his face right up his mom's full naked chest. Without thinking he opens up his mouth, and seals his lips around a breast, and starts nursing on it. Sam's eyes glaze over and he holds his son tighter. Dean's lids soon start feeling heavy ... he finally sleeps with one arm around his mom, the other propped up against Sammy's waist, their legs tangled together, his mom's mouth pressed to the top of his head and one of his mom's nipples clutched between his lips.

In Dean's books, with all things considered, this is certainly a good outcome for the day.

...

Three weeks later, Dean is in Rhonda Hurley's bed, kissing her heatedly, tasting the remains of cigarette smoke and whiskey on her tongue, and fucking for the first time, his new girlfriend getting impaled on his dick.

She's straddling him and he's buried to the hilt inside Rhonda's hot pussy with two spit-slick fingers buried in her ass. She's whining helplessly - or so she pretends. Dean can't tell if she's intentionally turning up the volume on her sluttiness. He doesn't care. She knows what she's doing, it seems, and it's fucking working wonders on Dean.

Dean's lazy arm, with the near-healed hand, is stretched beside him. Dean thrusts up into Rhonda, slipping in and out with his cock, and stabbing with his fingers - overworking them plus his core muscles - as he fucks into her two holes simultaneously, screwing her in more ways than one.

His pace is punishing and Rhonda is indulging him, working herself up and down Dean's thick length with abandon, moaning like a whore and even Dean can't believe the bitch's barely 16. She fucks, and gets fucked, like a pro - her ash blond hair falling back, her perky udders bouncing, rose pink nipples hard enough to cut glass, and her mouth is open, panting and making the sweetest noises Dean has ever heard.

And jeez, he's two years younger, and she still worships him; age doesn't even register to her. All she wants is a strong, handsome Alpha and a good, solid fuck. If Dean had known her back when he was still 12, she'd probably still let him dick her if he tempts her enough.

And Dean's cock is very tempting—he's a young dominant Alpha through and through.

When his orgasm hits, it's electrifying. Against good reason, he's fucking her bare, without a condom, and he shoots inside - and the feeling he gets from the friction, and from letting loose inside her pussy is worth all the risk (and the tests that will follow to make sure he didn't contact anything). But even in the throes of passion, and considering how ready he feels for more sexual adventures, Dean still remembers to pull out before his knot fattens up. Not that he can properly knot with a beta like her. But even if she could trap his knot with her inner muscles, like omegas do, Rhonda doesn't deserve the honor anyway.

Dean's knot is for one person, and one person alone. And that person's name is too pure and too good to be so much as uttered in Rhonda's presence.

Dean's cock perks up again, shortly after they're done with round one. You see, Rhonda does this filthy thing: when Dean is lying back still trying to catch his breath, the insatiable bitch sits up against the headboard and splays her legs wide open for Dean, showing off the sloppy mess he made of her. Her cunt and hole are obscenely stretched and on display, and Dean can't take his eyes away from that juicy spot between her legs.

Now having his full attention, Rhonda uses two fingers to scoop up the cum leaking from her pussy and she fuckin' eats it. Dean's cum, that was just dribbling out in rivulets from her pussy hole, whose muscles are still flexing ... the dark-pink-rimmed opening that's still winking enticingly at Dean.

His mind melts, and he makes a mental note to tell Benny every last detail of this. Hell, he'll tell anyone who listens.

And Rhonda's still taking it all. Dipping her fingers in her soaked cunt. Swallowing Dean's fluids, moaning around her fingers like it's honey she's tasting or chocolate syrup. And Dean has never seen anything so dirty.

His dick goes from twitching to rock hard in under a minute. "Want to come in my ass, Dean? My pussy is still dripping with your seed but my hole feels so empty," she purrs, as she plays with her pucker now, circles it, slips a manicured finger in, for his eyes only. "Want you to ruin my slutty hole, Dean," she begs beautifully.

And Dean ... Dean is a gone man, all thoughts of anyone else but Rhonda simply forgotten.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for the non-events here. And for how brief this is, compared to chapter six. It's been a super busy week at work, and I come home late every night. I barely had time to write.
> 
> Next chapter: Dresses, lingerie, Rhonda Hurley, slutty phone pix and a very #JealousSam plus some more drama. We're closer to the actual "Dean X Sam fucking" than we ever were btw. I'm personally very excited about the next chapter. 
> 
> Stay tuned! ;-)


	9. Dean and Rhonda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extended scene from the last chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NSFW picture below!

Sitting on Rhonda's couch, buck naked, his cock lying soft against his thigh, Dean sips on a beer as he lazily watches a muted show on the TV screen - he's not "watching, watching," more like observing the moving pictures. At 16, Rhonda already has the house to herself most of the time. A nearly absent mom, and a dad who drinks himself into a stupor every single night, means a lot of freedom - and sure, less money, and minimal prospects, but Rhonda is not the self-pitying type; she has long accepted that this is her life and that this is probably it. And she makes the best out of it - mostly by getting fucked stupid and building a solid reputation as the school slut, in addition to drinking, smoking up, even hustling men twice her size in pool in shady bars. Dean has seen the girl in action, and she's good. She can wiggle her way through anything, including getting them into some pretty exclusive clubs without showing IDs.

He doesn't know how she does it but he's not complaining.

Right now, she has thrown a thin crop top on, and she's sitting on a love seat to his right, her breasts covered, but the lower half of her body completely nude. She's not even trying to hide her modesty; she's sitting with her legs folded, knees splayed out, and her pussy lips are spread from the position, showing off her pink opening and because she's lazily lying back against the seat, Dean can also glimpse her pucker. Her shamelessness is quite gripping! 

She looks sexy as hell, but Dean fucked her at least three times in less than four hours and even at 14 that's pushing it. He can enjoy the view, but at this point, his dick is not interested in anything beyond twitching feebly in response to the visual stimulation.

Rhonda is sipping on scotch, neat. She offered him a shot earlier but Dean of course declined. She's also smoking and he wouldn't come near cigarettes no matter what. Never again. The last time he did, his mom smelled it on him, and he went through scorching hell for a couple of days. 

His mom can forgive him for anything, except wrecking his own health or harming himself. When he smelled the smoke, whose smell Dean had mistakenly thought had faded from his mouth and clothes, Sam was furious. Dean had never seen his mom this mad - except for the time when Dean had called him a 'dirty whore' but even then Sam's rage was fleeting, and he was quick to forgive then beg for forgiveness himself after the whole broken bones fiasco. But it wasn't the case with being caught smoking. 

It happened the first time Dean went out with Rhonda, and it was tempting to try. It was only a week after Dean had hurt his hand punching the mirror. It was their first date, and Rhonda magicked Dean with her rebellion, her daring and the way she flips off the entire waken world with everything she says or does - he was inspired. When she offered him a cigarette, he didn't want to come across as a coward or a wuss, and between them, they'd smoked an entire pack by the end of the date.

Dean's not stupid; he tried to mask the smell. He tried sucking on mint lozenges, used a breath spray and gurgled with lukewarm coffee and he went home thinking he has it covered, until his mommy gave him a welcome home kiss, right on his mouth, and immediately caught on the trace of his sin. Sam's face scrunched up in disgust, and when he asked, Dean couldn't lie. Well, he tried, but his mom could read him right away, so he quickly caved in and told him everything; that yes, not only did he smoke, but he also chain smoked, and yes, it was out of peer pressure, because his friends were smoking (Dean didn't mention it was just Rhonda), and he didn't want to be the odd one out; the loser, the goody-good boy who's too afraid of his parents to try anything new. He's 14 _goddamnit_ , he's susceptible to bad influence; _it's practically a right at 14,_ Dean thinks.

But the look on his mom's face when he was done with his confession made him feel he should've flipped Rhonda off, and refused the ciggies altogether, leaving her to think whatever she wants to think of him.

Sam's bitchfacing abilities are legendary, and at that moment, he unleashed his best one on Dean. When Dean tried to make amends by burrowing into his mom's embrace and apologizing, shockingly, Sam pushed him away.

"You reek of smoke, Dean. Never come near me smelling like that. You should be ashamed of yourself," Sam had said, cheeks tinged red with anger. And Dean did feel ashamed, at that moment. For never had his mom been so harsh. Never had he felt that he'd disappointed him like this.

The next day, his mom was stone cold, and they barely talked. It was a weekend but he was grounded. His mom even threatened to rat him out to his dad, who would've probably tanned his hide if he knew. So Dean happily accepted the penalty. If his mom is this unforgiving about it, then his dad would probably break his face, or do something equally drastic. 

Instead of spending Saturday evening in his mom's arms, he spent it holed up in his room feeling sorry for himself. Later, when his mom calmed a bit, Sam explained to him how it breaks his heart when Dean does anything to hurt himself; that he can't stand it when Dean's reckless or acts so irresponsibly, least of all to please someone else or out of petty pressure. Dean understood. He would've felt the same if it were Sam or Adam. He promised solemnly he won't do it again -- a promise that Dean will break of course, but many years later. Not now. Now, at that moment, he promised, then covered Sam's face with kisses. Eventually, his mom softened, and smiled a little. By Sunday night, it was all back to normal, and his mom even tucked him in bed, where they made out some before Dean went to sleep. Dean didn't dare re-attempt a proper making out session, with tongue and all, so close to the first incident. So these kisses were mostly closed-mouthed, but they were lingering and deep, and many, and they left them both with swollen lips. 

Right now, he listens to his mom. So when Rhonda offered him a puff post their frantic sex making, Dean firmly refused. He also realized that he too hates how smoke smells, and he especially loathes how it tastes on Rhonda's mouth. It's almost a turn off, so next time they plan to go at it like bunnies, he'll tell Rhonda in advance to lay off the cigarettes. 

"What's on your mind, darling?" Rhonda purrs, from where she's sitting. "Nothing. Just relaxing."

"Tell me about her?"

"Her?"

"The girl you obsess over when I'm not sucking your dick, or riding you like a friggin' horse, Dean. Is she in the same school as us?"

Dean understands. He probably has this look in his eyes; whenever Sam crosses his mind, he gets lost for a bit. Dean will have to learn to school his features into neutrality when he's thinking of Sam, otherwise people who can read other people well, like Rhonda does or anyone else, will be able to spot the dreamy element to his thoughtfulness. 

"No. And it's a he."

"Oh, the plot thickens."

"There's no plot. He's the love of my life, he's the Omega I will finally marry and settle down with. That's it more or less."

"Typical Alpha. One omega for the main course, and a beta on the side."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't kid yourself. We're nothing. You're not even my mistress."

"What? Just a one-time fuck? You're hurting my feelings, Dean."

"I don't know if it's a one-time thing. But I don't commit, Rhonda, I can't, not even to casual. I can't even promise we'll keep playing around like this. I might come back for seconds. Or not." Dean knows he will. Rhonda is a find. But he still doesn't want to promise anything.

"And when he's mine, I won't cheat. I won't have to. No betas on the side, just him," Dean adds, then gulps down some beer. 

"If he has you wound around his little finger like this, so perfectly, why aren't you with him right now? What are you doing here, darling?"

"Well, it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" she says, smiling playfully, clearly amused. 

"He's not exactly available. Yet. But he's mine, I know it." Dean doesn't even know why he's not shutting Rhonda up, nipping the conversation in the bud and ending it with "it's none of your business" before it's even starting. Maybe it's the alcohol, and sex afterglow, loosening his tongue, or perhaps, a part of him wants to spill; wants to find a way to talk about Sam, discuss their messed up situation, and seek comfort from the idea of letting someone else know that Sam is his, and only his; that his mom is his everything. 

"He's married, isn't he?" 

_How on Earth are her guesses spot on like this?_

"Rhonda, tread softly." 

"I don't even know what this means."

"It means it's time to shut up, maybe."

Rhonda puts out her cigarette, lays the glass aside, leaves the chair and crawls on all fours, seductively, to where Dean is. She kneels between Dean's legs, grips his knees and parts his thighs further, and dives in between, sucking on Dean's naked balls, moaning as she does, like his bag is the most delicious meal. Her eyes meet his as she slurps, and he knows what she's doing. This conversation's not over. Dean can't help but throw his head back; pleasure coursing through him, his lower parts slowly coming to life, cock stirring, and blood rushing to his groin. Before he falls further into pleasure, he tips his beer bottle back, and drains the rest of it. He discards the bottle, on the floor by the couch. 

Rhonda pops one of his balls out of her wet lips, and says, "Tell me a bit about him. What you love the most."

"No way, but go back to what you were doing. Jeez, Rhonda, put your mouth on my balls. Keep sucking," Dean says, breathlessly. 

Rhonda runs her lips against his length, and her voice vibrates against his penis when she speaks, "na-uh, not until you tell me about your boy. Come on. What's so special about him, darling?" She kisses the head of Dean's cock. Softly. Like she's kissing a baby. It's pure torture. 

"Damn it, Rhonda. I like the way he smells." She takes the head in her mouth, and starts sucking. "I like his b-body. It's soft in places, and h-hard in others. God!" She pushes her tongue into his cock slit. "I like his voice. It's manly, yet full of love and warmth. And ... Rhonda, God." He can feel the slit give, the tiny hole expanding under Rhonda's assault, and he's never had a blow job that felt so dirty. She continues her ministrations, and he continues spilling, and although he feels _erotically blackmailed_ into speaking about his mom, his Sammy, he still feels liberated he could even talk about him to anyone else.

He keeps going on and on about Sam's lips, Sam's eyes, his chest, his belly pudge, his cock. Even mentioning he's older. All, saving Sam's name and relationship to him of course, or anything that would give his identity away. Then Dean's brain gets sucked through his prick and he starts outright rambling ... 

"When we're married, I'll pump him full of babies. And-and, put him in dresses all the time. I'll fuckin' flaunt him everywhere, I'll fuck him where people can see. So that everyone knows he's mine. God, he'll l-look - Oh, Rhonda, keep doing that, please. Ahhh - he-he will look great in panties and lacy bras. And that's the only thing he'll be allowed to wear around our house. I'll hand pick his lingerie. Uhhh. I won't even take off his panties when, when ... I'm gonna come, Rho-. Soon. ... I'll just ... I'll just part his legs and pull the panty to the side, and f-fuck his hole. I'll fuckin' fuck him into the mattress. I'll knot him. He'll be my bitch. And I'll stay in him for hours. I'll fuckin' fill him with my cum, and-and piss. Mark him all over. I'll plug him, and let him walk around with my seed and pee sloshing inside of him. I'm coming, coming. Uhhh." Eyes glazed, pulse thundering in his ears, and vision whitening, Dean's orgasm rips through him, strings of white pearly fluid shooting from his dick into Rhonda's throat. She swallows it all down, then parts her lips, and releases him. 

"How was that, darling?" Her voice is raspy, and her lips look edible. 

"Come here," Dean says and pulls her into his arms, slotting their mouths together, and devouring her lips, practically tasting himself there. "You know how delicious you are, Rhonda? Huh, baby?"

"Does this mean I'll see you again?" She asks, sweetly, against his lips, between hot kisses. "Maybe." She pulls away. "Well, most probably," Dean adds hastily. 

"Good enough," she says, giggling. And Dean flips them on the couch so that he's lying on top of her then he resumes fucking her mouth with his tongue.

 _She is something_ , he thinks, before falling hard, again, into the throes of passion. He wonders, for a split of a second, if he can indeed keep her on the side like Alphas typically do, but his mind doesn't stay there. It's his dick thinking now. No, no, he'll just have Rhonda as long as he can't fully have his mom, then it's over, he tells himself. And until then, his mom doesn't even have to know there's a Rhonda. 

Or so he tells himself. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet (I hope). Then more juice in the next update, and as promised, a bit of #JealousSam ;) Sorry for making you guys wait for so awfully long before updating. Will try my best to be consistent from here on.


	10. The big reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean strings Rhonda along while he still can't get his mom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, this is just a (very) little something to prove to you that I'm back on the grid and back to writing this. It's just to wet your appetite. All the real action, and the emotional turmoil, is in the next chapter, which will come some time this week, I promise. This was actually supposed to be only the first part of the new chapter, but since I've been getting a lot of comments inquiring about updates, I thought that the best way to reassure you is to just post what I have so far.
> 
> I'll continue writing tonight as well, so that I can post a full, juicy chapter as soon as I can.
> 
> FYI, Dean has recently turned 15 in this one.

Dean and Rhonda are an item now, and everyone treats Dean like he's won the lottery - including Benny, who called dibs on getting all the details to Dean and Rhonda's "bedroom rodeo", as he calls it. The girls call Rhonda a slut, but the boys envy the ground she walks on; she's hot, and easy, a guy's dream come true. Right?

Wrong, because Dean is already taken.

Sure, Dean knows she's a looker. 

And Dean will give Rhonda something else: she endures. He's been hot and cold, moody, and downright rude to her sometimes but she's still tethered to him. 

She knows Dean is in love with "an older boy". He insinuated as much, more like nearly admitted it during one of their sexapades. She accepts she's never going to be "the one," but she sticks around, and Dean won't lie, he enjoys the intimacy. In bed, Rhonda is anything but boring.

A part of Dean has humored the thought that maybe there's a longer play at hand; Rhonda may be lurking, waiting for a chance to pounce on Dean, and tie him in a committed relationship, but as far as he's concerned, she can lurk all she wants; she'll never be his other half.

He already cheats on Rhonda with other girls. He often comes clean, she pretends to mind, but deep down, Dean doesn't think she does as long as, publicly, they're still together. In another life, she might have worked well as a beta mistress, if only for her looks, because let's face it, that's her only powerful asset. The girl's got no class. 

Dean tells himself he can make do with this broken relationship for now - until he's with his mate. His own mother. 

He realizes how it sounds, and he's already bracing himself (mentally) for all the battles he will have to wage in order to convince the world his mom is his. He knows what this love entails; this obsession. He's painfully aware that his mom was claimed before Dean was even conceived - in fact, Dean himself wouldn't be here if he weren't.

He also knows choosing Sam means breaking ranks with his entire family, losing his father, maybe even his brother, and one day having to stand up and claim his own mother, marry him and be both father and brother to his sons and daughters. 

It's messed up. If he were an outsider, he'd judge himself and Sam harshly. 

But Dean also doesn't care - family politics or societal norms don't hold a candle to the red, hot passion coursing through him at the idea of having Sam all to himself.

He's familiar with the history of Alpha and Omega relationships, and being claimed by family members happened and still happens, albeit rarely compared to the old days. But it's not unheard of, and new social laws are not scripture, he tells himself. 

Dean sometimes wishes he could vent to someone. He once thought of Bobby. They talk sometimes during his banishment periods, which are regular now that Sam goes into heat, but he couldn't muster enough courage to talk to him about _this_.

The closest he came to spilling it all to Bobby was when Dean fell apart this one time. Dean had been staying at Bobby's when he was suddenly hit by a bout of rage at the thought of his father claiming Sam like he once saw him do; the anger soon turned destructive and Dean's awareness caught up with him only in the midst of a tantrum where he was literally wrecking one of Bobby's cars in the yard with a heavy metal rod.

Usually working on the cars was meditative for Dean, but not that time. That time, he got carried away with his thoughts. He came out of his trance when Bobby started screaming at him to stop, holding his wrists, barring him from swinging his make-shift bat and hurling it at the poor vehicle one more time. Dean remembers the moment he came to: He was being manhandled by Bobby, standing in front of a wreck that he'd caused. He unclenched his fist, the rod fell out, and tears started overflooding his eyes.

The adrenaline withdrawal left Dean light headed, and his knees almost gave out. He held together, barely keeping from passing out or having a full meltdown. He sniffed and shifted his gaze away from his handiwork and from Bobby. He expected a lecture, and a phone call to his parents. Out of shame and not fear, Dean then started profusely apologizing. But Bobby just dismissed him. Dean saw him inspecting the damage - or pretending to, while in reality he was probably digesting the scene he'd walked onto - muttering "idjit" under his breath.

Later on, Bobby who usually hated talking about feelings as much as Dean did, popped open a couple of beers, slid one to Dean across the kitchen table, and told him to spill.

And Dean could've done that, would've, right there and then, and perhaps Bobby would've understood.

Dean would've told him his problem, mainly that he loved a man too much and it was making him mad and he didn't understand half of it. He'd tell him that his man was always with him, but always out of reach, loving but not romantically interested, his, but not his.

But Dean made a last minute decision to shut his cakehole, and keep his secrets and moaning to himself. Instead, he told Bobby he's feeling burned out, after losing a boxing match plus enduring overwhelming school work, expectations, etc. to which Bobby listened patiently, finally concluded it was all bullshit, telling Dean that when he's ready to talk, he'll be here. "And not a word to Cas or Sam about this," Bobby had added, pointing to Dean's beer bottle. Dean protested humorously that he's not an idiot, he'd never tell his parents about the odd drink. It wasn't worth mentioning anyway; it was one single beer. And that was that. 

The 'dark' incident was shoved under the carpet, and for that Dean was immensely grateful. 

...

It's almost the end of this school year, and the next is Dean's freshman year in high school.

He knows it's a big deal for his parents, but for him, all that he can think about is his sixteenth birthday, which, according to his pre-set plan, he's going to celebrate by fucking his mom.

He plans to do it some time around the Lupercalia festival, and his official coming-of-age ceremony as an Alpha male of the Winchester family. Both traditions are very medieval in flavor but his father's family uphold the tradition religiously. He's never attended the festival before; only adults are allowed to. But he hears that everyone dresses up for it, that it's grand and regal, and that during the festival, the family's freshly matured Alphas are honored by the heads of families. Dean doesn't think Castiel is progressive enough to force him to miss such a celebrated, life-defining event.

And again, Dean believes it's fit to claim his mom around that time, in the after-glow of his own ceremony, after his mom witnesses his enthroning as an Alpha. 

But he's no way close to being anything like that for Sam. In fact, he had to take it all down a notch, sensing a strong reluctance from his mom's end when he pushes or when he tries to brave new territory, especially during the last couple of weeks. 

Sam still wavers between holding back and giving his all - and Dean is sometimes not so sure if his mom is still buying into his innocent charade. 

Dean thinks perhaps it's time he let go of polite pretenses and instead, reveal to his mom his true intentions.

It's a wager; he could lose all. But how else is he going to make this work?

Besides, Dean would like to think that his mom loves him too much to risk losing him, even if it came down to a choice between him and his father. Or is he wrong? 

His string of thoughts is severed when he hears his mom calling him down for dinner. His dad, as per the new tradition, is not around. He's so close to promotion, and he's working his butt off these days, spending more time in the office, and in work-related events, than ever before. Dean was propped up against the headboard waiting for the aspirin he popped half an hour earlier to kick in when he heard Sam's call. He was badly beaten in sparring, and took a bad hit to his chest. His ribs are aching. He was distracted and clumsy and his boxing coach was not happy. 

Dean climbs off the bed, and walks down to the ground floor. His mom and Adam are already around the kitchen table, as Dean shuffles into the kitchen then grunts in pain as he plops down in his seat. 

"Your ribs?" his mom asks, concern lacing his tone, but also a hint of anger that Dean doubts has anything to do with him being banged up.

"Getting better," Dean responds.

"I highly doubt."

"I'm fine, mom."

"Whatever, Dean. Eat," his mom says, dropping a plate in front of him. 

OK, something is most definitely wrong. Throughout the meal, Dean tries to start a conversation but his mom's clipped responses kill those attempts. Sam is uncharacteristically impatient with Adam, who's like any three year old at a dinner table, is squirming in his seat, and playing with his food between mouthfuls. When they're done, Dean tries to help his mom clear the table, but Sam tells him not to bother. Dean takes Adam to the living room, and pops a DVD in, a cartoon to entertain his little brother, something he can fall asleep to. Then he returns to the kitchen where Sam's washing the dishes. His mom's back is straighter than usual, his shoulders are visibly tense, and he looks agitated - his distress is radiating off of him in waves. Dean swings his arms around him and hugs him from behind, chest to back, but Sam doesn't relax. Dean lays his head on Sam's back, in the nook between his shoulder blades, and starts massaging his mom's abs, wanting to soothe him of whatever it is that's eating him up. But Sam wriggles, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture and wanting to break free, and asks Dean if he has school work that requires attending to. 

Dean doesn't know what to do with himself, so he withdraws to his room. 

The week goes on with Sam being aloof and physically unresponsive. And between school and training, and studying for exams, Dean can't find the time to corner his mom and finally find out what's going on. _Roll on the weekend_ , he thinks, because he really wants to get to the bottom of this. 

On Thursday, late in the afternoon, Dean feels disenchanted with the cold situation at home, and he's climbing the walls. He decides to call Benny to see if he could come over to study with him. Cas is in early from work, a rarity but it happens, and Sam is showering his husband with attention. They're both ignoring him; Cas is not doing it on purpose, and Sam? Who knows what's going through his mommy's head right now. _Where else do you think Dean got his talent for closing up and shutting his emotions away?_

To make it all worse ... Dean has this dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach that his mom and dad might have sex tonight, and he's helpless to stop it, as always.

An hour after his call, Benny comes round and at least now Dean has someone to talk to. 

Believe it or not, they do study for a bit, in Dean's room, but then Cas swings by and tells them that dinner is served. When they're at the table, everyone makes polite conversation - it's not too often that Dean brings friends to the house - and for some reason everything is a little awkward. Sam doesn't talk to Dean a lot, it's like he's avoiding him or something, and Cas is making small talk. Adam is being his cute self, and telling Benny about his day. At three, he can string some sentences together, already, and he likes talking. 

The conversation inches forward until Benny starts talking about his obsession: hockey, and it's something that perks Cas' interest, and they start going on and on about the last hockey season, making projections as well about the next one. Dean's eyes are on his mom, trying to read him, get into his head. He's only distracted when Benny nudges him, and asks if he's willing to come over to his place and watch this recorded game, something that he's organizing some time next week. "It'll be fun. Ash will be there, Charlie too. And oh, bring your girlfriend." 

Dean's heart skips a beat, he chokes on his food, coughs a little and his watery eyes jump to meet his mom's, who's not looking at him but who has stopped chewing now and is staring at his plate, frozen like a statue.

Dean didn't tell his family about _her_.

To his friends, she's his girl, but here, in the Winchester home, she's a nobody, or at least Dean would've wanted to keep it this way. 

Dean clears his throat before responding, "Sure, Benny. I'll ask her." _Shit_. He now just confirmed it. _Shit, shit, shit._ He looks at his mom, and Sam's face is unreadable, but his ears and neck have turned beat red. 

"Girlfriend? How come I don't know anything about this, young man?" Cas asks, not exactly sternly, but playing it up. He's barely keeping himself from beaming; it almost feels like Cas is mentally sighing in comfort. He adds: "Tell us about this girl, Dean."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam says, almost challenging, and he's practically glaring at Dean now. "Tell us about her."

"Erm, we haven't been together for long."

"What are you on about?! It's your longest relationship yet, Dean," his very dumb friend says. "And they're all over each other, sir," Benny adds addressing Cas. 

"Benny!" Now it's Dean who's flushed, his face burning.

Why does it feel like he's been caught cheating on his mom, like he's been ratted out by Benny. Practically, there's nothing between him and his mom, but he still feels like the scum of the Earth, and his mom's reaction is not helping. Is he reading this right? Is Sam pretty mad at him?

If Sam is livid, Dean deserves it of course. Dean and Sam are best friends; he doesn't keep anything from him. So Sam probably feels betrayed, for not knowing. He'd feel the same in his shoes. For a moment, Dean feels like it could be more; he wants it to be more. A part of him has always been indignant at the thought of being forced to tell Sam about Rhonda, and another longed for Sam to find out ... to test his reaction, to spark his jealousy.

"Alright, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just that you've never stayed with anyone for this long. As your best buddy, I'm happy for you."

"So, who is she?"

"Dad, do I really have to do this? Benny, I'll kill you."

"What? Were you going to keep this from us forever?" It's Sam again. 

"No! Ugh. It's just that--I hate chick flick moments, mom, alright? Talking about relationships and all that. And I'm not exactly getting married here. So there's no forever. Is this clear?" 

"She's not an omega, is she?" It's Cas who's asking. 

"No, dad, she's a beta. And her name is Rhonda."

"You know I've met your mom for the first time when I was your age. We didn't start dating right away but things got interesting quickly, at least from my side. Are you in love yet?" Cas teases. He is enjoying this a little too much, on his son's expense. In fact, Dean's discomfort is egging Cas on. When Dean just glares at his dad, and doesn't respond, Cas continues, "Alright, that's enough. Dean, you're inviting your girl over. Your mother and I would like to meet her."

"Dad, come on, we're not even that serious. I don't wanna give her the wrong impression."

"And the right impression would be to hide her away from your family, Dean Winchester? You're already together from the sound of it. It's as serious as it gets for your age. Bring her here. No girl is dating a son of mine without passing our test."

"What? You're gonna let her jump through hoops for you?"

"Keep talking, and I very well might," says Cas winking at Sam, who gives him a tight smile back.

Castiel, for some reason that Dean is starting to feel in his bones, is suddenly very cheerful. _He knows_ , Dean thinks, _about his feelings for Sam_. But Dean can afford to entertain the disturbing thought for a brief moment, before moving onto the more pressing issue: the fact that he'll have to ask Rhonda to come and meet the family. _To meet Sam._

"Tomorrow night," Cas says and his tone is final. Dean nods slowly, his shoulders slumped, feeling defeated. 

_This is going to be interesting._

He most definitely will kill Benny. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback makes my heart flutter. Let me know your thoughts xox


	11. Small Betrayals (Chapter tag)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demons inside Sam's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have an experiment, that is post much shorter chapters (especially tags like this) immediately instead of making you wait. 
> 
> I personally prefer the longer chapters, tying things together, and balancing dialogue, some action, with characters' reflections. Make it rich and eventful. It's how I roll. But I don't want readers to get too tired of waiting, or hating me for taking my time. 
> 
> So it's up to you; let me know if you'd rather have one full 7,000+ word chapter in one go, with all the juice, instead of these smaller ones. 
> 
> That being said, this can work well as a standalone, because it's our first glimpse inside Sam's head re his relationship with Dean. And I think it's very revealing. I hope you also read between the lines with this one ;)

Sam was on his back, spread open, with Castiel on top of him, his husband's engorged, leaky cock ramming into him. If Castiel's thrusts weren't stimulating his sweet spot, sending the occassional electric jolt to Sam's cock, the latter wouldn't have taken interest at all, Sam realizes bitterly.

He's barely half-hard, despite the forced foreplay (in which Sam was hardly reciprocating) and the stroking of his prostate with every push.

And if Sam's hips are undulating, falling into a pulsing rhythm from time to time, it's a purely physical response. His head isn't in it.

In a first, Sam feels like sex with Cas is a temporal affair; not sensual, not spiritual, not even loving at the moment, at least as far as he's concerned. Because, above him, Castiel is going at it like there's no tomorrow. _At least one of us is enjoying this_ , Sam thinks. Their marriage bed is protesting with regular creaks and it feels like it's going to give under their weight. Castiel's moans are muffled with his face buried in Sam's neck, his chin resting on Sam's right shoulder. 

It's dark, save for a few feeble rays of warm street light creeping into the room through the window's half-pulled curtains. And Sam is thankful for that, because otherwise, Castiel will easily see the tears rolling silently across his wife's face, some pouring to the side, and pooling on his pillow. 

After the day was done, and the kids went to bed, Sam and Cas retired to their rooms, with Castiel beaming and with Sam barely able to contain the weight of the warring feelings inside his chest. The anger, disappointment, confusion and distress manifested in a knot, that wedged itself between his throat and collarbone and stayed there, making it hard to breathe or speak and harder to act like nothing is wrong. 

When Cas asked Sam how come he never knew about Rhonda, a part of Sam - on autopilot - wanted to immediately defend Dean, make up excuses for him. But at that moment, he just couldn't.

"Because your son's a dick," Sam spat, surprising himself.

"Woah, touchy," commented Cas, and started going on about how at Dean's age, he too was surprised at his own feelings when he started crushing heavily on Sam, about how it's hard to interpret these new feelings sometimes and how Dean must have needed time considering it's his first "real" relationship.

Practically, Cas was a heartbeat away from planning Dean's wedding to this Rhonda, who would've been faceless to Sam if he hadn't made his own revelation around two weeks earlier. 

It began with Dean's phone experiencing unprecedented activity; texts and phone calls around the clock. Sometimes, Dean would ignore the calls, which Sam was sure were returned later when his mommy wasn't in earshot, and other times he'd spend an hour or two texting back and forth with a mysterious someone. First, Sam brushed it aside, chalked it up to Dean widening his circle of friends. Dean always had buddies, sure, but he's always been more on the introverted side. He was never quite _busy_ with those friends. But hey, a little surge of activity doesn't warrant suspicion. 

But then, the texting sessions became more frequent, and when Sam asked, Dean would say it's Benny or Ash, or find a way to wriggle out of giving a proper answer, like giving Sam a name for instance. Because Sam knew in his heart that it was neither Benny nor Ash, but he could never explain, if asked, where this certainty came from. Sam found himself uncomfortable with the idea of his son keeping something from him - he didn't have proof per se that he was keeping secrets to begin with, but Sam had already been sensing that something has changed in his son, something that he quite couldn't put a finger on, something that only a mother, connected to his son in heart and soul, can sense.

The eerie feeling had lingered for months, but finally two weeks earlier, Sam decided to do something that's very unlike him: check Dean's phone behind his back.

It was compulsive, wrong, and Sam felt dirty doing it, but he did it anyway. He chose a moment when Dean was in the shower.

Once he heard the water running, Sam sneaked into his son's room and popped open his phone. _Damn it,_ it was password protected. But in a moment of inspiration, Sam keyed in Adam's year of birth, and when it didn't work, his own year of birth, and Dean's phone unlocked. _Too easy, De_ , Sam thought satisfied and feeling lucky, and proceeded to check Dean's messaging apps. Before he had a chance to do it, a picture message popped onto the screen with a beep that made Sam jump. He knew he was transgressing but he just had to see. The picture was of a blonde girl, a teen. She was buck naked and striking a sexy pose. Sam felt his chest close up, his cheeks burn and before he knew it, he was checking all the pictures saved on Dean's phone, and several were of the same blonde girl, including a selfie with the very pretty teenager lying topless in Dean's arms - free, uninhibited, her breasts womanly, round and her nipples puffy, perky and perfect, her blemish-free skin milky, and her look wanton and filled with want. She's everything Sam - in his early thirties, body exhausted by childbirth and mind burdened by insecurities and memories - will never be.

Sam felt like crashing the phone, trashing his son's entire room actually, then emptying his stomach in the nearest bin. 

Since then, things haven't been the same. Sam hasn't been the same, and the realization that Dean is not only sleeping with someone but hiding her, _like she's precious_ , felt like a hundred razors cutting Sam from the inside. The revelation left him with a lump in his throat, that stayed with him for days.  _What does this mean for them? Will Dean now start drifting away? Will he give up on their afternoons together in favor of spending time with his new flame? Will he leave Sam behind now that he's found someone to shower his affections on? What becomes of Sam if these two fall in love or get together? Will the girl be OK with how close Sam is to his son? Or will she try to break them apart?_

Sam started wondering if Dean kisses the girl like he kisses Sam. Recently, Sam's and Dean's kisses have become hotter, deeper, frenzied - was Sam imagining it? Are his son's wires just crossed? _Are Sam's?_

 _Did he selfishly use his son's need for intimacy to get something he shouldn't have?_ Sam wondered, a shiver running through his body. _Does Dean realize this on some level? Is it why he felt a need to hide the girl from Sam?_

Sam couldn't think straight for a while. When Dean would hug him, or kiss his lips, something inside of him would recoil. He felt robbed of something big. He walked around, feeling like he should be mourning for something. And in a way, he was.

He thought about confronting his son, but he was too afraid of what he might find out, not just about Dean, but also about himself, in the process of doing so. So he drowned his feelings in house work and the occasional drink. Dean was always around, but Sam felt like he's miles away; he'd look at him and it's like he was seeing him for the first time, like someone swapped his son, who he knows inside out, like the back of his hand, his son whose love and smiles and kisses are for him, with some other teen, who now spends a long time sexting and exchanging nudes with a stranger, with a girl than can never love him, and appreciate him like Sam does, but who can (and here's the tricky part) give him so much that Sam can't.

Until a few hours earlier, before that dinner with Benny, it was almost bearable. But the ugly truth reared its head and it turns out, the blonde is not just a random girl, it's not a teenage sexapade, apparently Dean is dating the girl. She's his sweetheart, now. Apparently, his son is serious enough that all his friends know about her, and according to Benny, she's it, she's his longest relationship.

_"They're all over each other, sir."_

Benny's words ring inside Sam's head as he's being fucked into the mattress by Castiel, transporting him back to the present moment, and Sam's eyes flood with a fresh outpouring of tears. He feels like hiding away, in a dark alcove, crying until his tears dry out, but right now, he's trapped in the hollow of Castiel's arms, being at once emotionally and physically engulfed by his husband's passionate display of love and lust, and suffocated by the smothering, oppressive closeness. He's being drenched in his husband's Alpha scent, and in a first, he hates it.

The thoughts, and the depth of his sadness, cause Sam's half-erection to finally completely wilt; at least now, his outside reflects his inside, because he's in no mood for sex, least of all this frantic pounding, but being Sam, he allowed it anyway, to please Cas. Always wanting to please Cas, or Adam, or ... Dean. 

 _Dean_. He almost whispers it, like he's supplicating to a saint or a deity, but catches himself in time. It's not something that he can explain, or wants to. Then again how can he tell Cas, or anyone else, that the moment he realized there was a contender for Dean's affections, that someone could steal his son away, something feral awoke inside of him; a desire to protect not just Dean, but himself, from this threatening predator.

And then how can he explain the consuming guilt? It's eating him up.

 _Why can't he be like other mothers? Be a little mad that his son had been hiding this from him. And instead of brooding, just get worried that Dean was having underage sex, ask him if he used protection, ground him for a weekend or something then sweep it under the carpet, and be friends again. Where is this scorching fire in his chest coming from? Is he jealous?_ Sam thinks darkly, oppresses the idea and muffles a sob, or tries to. It's this moment that Cas's knot decides to swell, and lodge itself inside Sam's stretched, slick asshole.

Sam has been dreading this bit: the intimacy that follows the knotting. He doesn't want it right now, not from Cas. 

Cas, who was just a moment ago, covering his neck, collarbone, and shoulders with kisses, biting and dragging his teeth across flesh, looks up, and of course, he can see the tear tracks, and the fresh weeping. 

He doesn't immediately ask, just searches Sam's face for a few moments. Their eyes meet, and for a second, Sam is filled with terror; the terror that creeps up in anyone when they feel the other person might be staring right into their soul; that they might figure them out after all. And right now, Sam isn't even sure what his soul would give away. He doesn't know himself, and he doesn't want to see any unwanted, disturbing truths reflected in Castiel's eyes, so he closes his eyelids, still sensing Castiel's face mere inches away from his, his breath blowing on his own lips, caressing it. 

"What is it, darling? Tell me," Castiel says, very softly, his voice like butterfly kisses against Sam's sweat-damp skin.

More tears soak Sam's eyes. Then he lets go. 

It's almost liberating that he's ceased control completely like this, that he's letting his body express its pain; letting the tears fall, thoughts swimming through his head uninhibited, letting his fears get the best of him, and finally laying himself open like this, right under Castiel's scrutiny.

He wants to tell Castiel that it's nothing, that it's the stress of house work, and taking care of Adam, and it's the brunt of his long hours away from home. He wants to tell him that he just misses him, or that he's lonely and wants him, more of him, every day. He wants to give him something that sounds reasonable and proper, and reassuring and loving. But instead, Sam starts sobbing loudly.

Shocked and confused, Castiel hugs him impossibly closer, carding his fingers through his hair, speaking softly to him, until Sam lets it all out. Until Sam calms, and until he can breathe evenly again.

When Cas finally pulls out, his knot deflated, Sam is spent, emotionally and mentally, and he barely feels it as Castiel leaves for a minute then slips back into the bed after he cleans up, and spoons him.

Sam sinks into a restless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't disappoint. If you look closely, you'll realize that this scene is somewhat mirroring an earlier also similarly painful/insightful/revelatory scene ;) 
> 
> As always, I love your feedback. So don't hesitate to share your thoughts please.
> 
> \------
> 
> IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings" besides the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL WARNINGS ARE LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may not warn for major things, mainly to avoid spoilers. The tags have been amended to reflect this. So please continue to read at your own risk! (I hope you end up choosing to read, but that's up to you of course). 
> 
> Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx


	12. Star-crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue love, drama and revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the 700+ kudos. I'm overwhelmed! I don't know what to say except I love you all xoxo

Dean is furious and Benny has been apologizing profusely for spilling the beans about Rhonda for, like, the past 15 minutes. But Dean isn't having any of it. He rarely ever brings friends home, in general, and now he kind of regrets inviting Benny over tonight. Besides, he doesn't feel like sitting on the porch stairs with Benny right now, speaking in hushed tones so they're not overheard; he wants to be inside the house with his mom, to see how he's doing and to, sort of, monitor the situation.

 _Is his Sammy still fuming? Because he looked like he was fuming, only inwardly. What does he think of all this? Is he mad about not knowing or at the idea that Dean is seeing someone to begin with?_ If it's the latter, then there's hope. Then maybe it means his mom is starting to feel something too. It would mean their bond is being welded already; that his grand plan is working. It would also mean he's in deep trouble. And that he may be in fact ruining his own progress. He doesn't want to send mixed messages, here. 

He wants to hear from Sammy - even get heavily scolded or get his ears boxed. He knows he deserves it, for hiding something so big from his mom.

_Waiting for the other shoe to drop is unnerving._

Dean was also kind of hoping he could change his dad's mind about meeting Rhonda, there's no way he's bringing her into his home, to meet his parents, like she's a _real_ girlfriend, like she matters. How could his dad think Dean is serious about her? How could Sammy?

In the worst case scenario, Dean thinks, if his dad insists, he'll just make something up, an excuse so Rhonda never has to show her face here. He'll do that repeatedly if he has to, until his dad eases off or gets off his back altogether. 

Speaking of his dad, Dean can't hear anything from the house any more. Not Castiel or mom or Adam, or the usual post-dinner commotion. It's not a quiet house when his dad is around; his dad likes to fill everyone in on his day at the office, especially Sam.

_Have they turned in already? Dear God, are they, you know, in their room, getting intimate right now, while Dean's on the porch, stuck with Benny?_

_Damn it._

After Dean feels Benny has been lectured enough for one night, the boys soon go back to talking about lighter things, like summer plans, their highly-anticipated venture into high school next year, and of course, the school's hot girls. At the moment, neither of them is in the mood for studying, that's how they ended up outside, and anyway, Benny should be leaving soon. Dean's mind and heart are half into the conversation with Benny, however. And what's said is nothing of real importance until Benny starts braving dangerously new territory: talking about Dean's mom. _His_ Sam. 

"You know, your mom is the first male omega that I ever get to know."

"Yeah. So?" Dean says, uneasy as to where this is headed. He realizes that it's not every day that people run into male Omegas. There aren't a lot of them. Still, it doesn't mean he wants to talk about his own. 

"It's kinda hot."

"What do you mean?!" says Dean, a little incredulous. _Benny has some nerves on him._

"Well, all I'm sayin' is that your dad is a lucky man. He gets to have an omega man. A male omega, for crying out loud! And so handsome. No wonder why he's so infatuated, even after all these years, it shows, man. Your dad worships your mom. My dad barely looks at my mom anymore. But your mom is--"

"Careful, Benny." Dean warns, partly furious just for the sole reason that Benny is talking about his dad and mom's relationship like it's unbreakable, like Sammy belongs to Castiel or something, like it's a done deal. Dean begs to differ. If he could, he would show Benny just how much his mom equally belongs to him, and that's just now. In the future, there will be no place for Castiel to begin with, if all goes as planned. 

"I didn't say anythin' bad here. It's just that your mom is freakin' gorgeous. His body--"

"Woah, dude! Are you out of your mind?" 

"What? He _is_ gorgeous!" 

And Benny is not wrong, especially today. Although his mom was brooding, his pout was so goddamn sexy it hurt Dean's heart just to look at him, all while fighting the urge to plant a hard-mouthed one on his lips, until he swoons. 

And ever since Adam (who's three years old now) has been going slow on the nursing, and Dean not getting much of that either, with his mom being distant and withdrawn, Sam's chest has shrunk, his boobs becoming at least half a size smaller. Now that would have been bad if it weren't for the fact that because of the size shift, Sammy rarely ever wears a bra inside the house anymore, meaning Dean can usually get a glimpse of his perky nipples pushing against the thin shirts he always dons. On most days he could make out the shape of Sam's pecs through his shirts, and they're round and dainty, and it's so sexy how only a flimsy piece of fabric is separating them from Dean. He wishes he would bare them to his eyes, and _eat_ them. 

He hates the thought that Benny was most probably inspecting his mother, sizing him up and ogling his beautiful form. Maybe Benny also noticed that Sam's tits were poking out. Maybe he dared to fantasize. _Fucking hell_. Dean now feels he should've been more watchful of Benny at dinner earlier, especially of where his eyes were roaming.

Benny is a typical Alpha, a knot-head, from a very traditional household, with an obnoxious, womanizing Alpha for a father and a submissive omega for a mother. When Dean first told Benny about his own mom, that he's a male omega, Benny was impressed, murmuring that omega men are as rare and precious as diamonds in this society. His dad's words too, not only his. He kept pestering Dean with questions. "Is your mom a submissive? Does he wear dresses?," and when Dean reluctantly responded, the insinuations in Benny's next questions became dirtier. "Does he wear lingerie around the house? Is his equipment, you know, big like Alphas? Is he womanly in any way?" Like Benny is trying to fucking picture it all.

It made Dean feel like his family is a freak show, like they should be featured on the National Geographic for fuck's sake.

He also never appreciated all the prodding, mainly because no, he doesn't like to publicize that his mom never wore dresses, or is not effeminate and has always refused to be prototypical in any way or form - except for bearing children and being OK with the label "mom" as opposed to being called "dad".

Imagine if he'd been forced to call Sam "dad" on top of all this. That would've been unacceptable, Dean thinks. He wouldn't have done it, on principle.

Dean usually gave Benny clipped answers, and he never humored his questions for too long. 

And now, sitting on the porch after Rhonda-gate, he feels like shutting him up again, feeling increasingly protective of his mom, and sensing he might have been slightly violated by Benny's gaze at dinner, to Dean's utter oblivion. Benny better NOT be perving on his mom right now or imagining his mommy in compromising positions, with Castiel or otherwise. Dean would have his head on a stick if he feels Benny is entertaining any dirty thoughts about his Sammy. 

So there. "Just shut the fuck up, before I make you Benny."

"Fine! I just envy your dad to be honest."

"Benny! You want a taste of my right hook?"

"Alright, alright," he says then his phone beeps. "Ok, time to go anyway. My ride's here," he motions with one hand in the general direction of the street, where a car is slowly approaching. "You alright, Dean? You seem a little on edge still."

"I'm OK, dude. I'll see you tomorrow at school, alright?"  

"But we're OK? This Rhonda shit didn't make a dent in our friendship or anything?"

"Since when do you get all sensitive and caring Benny? Should I be worried?" Dean teases, amused by Benny's apologetic stance, and relieved he's leaving, along with all his curiosity about Sam. Benny is a pig sometimes. 

"Just making sure my best friend is ok, asshole. Earlier, you were wound up tight. And you're still moody."

"Now, you're just turning into a girl. Get going, Ben, before our balls shrink and we grow lady parts sitting here talking about feelings."

"Right. See you tomorrow, ballsack." 

"See ye, jerk!" 

...

**Later that night**

Dean is suddenly awake, his sleep was awfully restless anyway due to the realization that his mom and dad are locked up in their room, probably going at it like bunnies. In moments like these, Dean loathes his dad and he feels like punching holes through the wall from sheer frustration and jealousy. In a weird way, he's in a better form than he ever were, having marginally trained himself to get used to the idea that his parents are regularly sleeping together, and that this will continue, at least until his plan is complete and he'd managed to separate them - and yes, Dean doesn't have any qualms thinking about driving a wedge between Sammy and Castiel. It's meant to be. He didn't force himself to want his mom, it just happened. He's not evil. Sure, it's unfortunate that his dad would have to step aside, but it is what it is. The alternative would be Dean giving up his right to his omega, and sorry but he can't do that, not even for his dad, who's barely traditional anyway. Castiel is most welcome to go look for another omega, or even a beta (since he'll treat his omega like one anyway), and fall in love with him or her. Dean doesn't mind a step-mom or dad, he's an easy son. 

He looks at his bedside clock. It's 12:24 am. And he's barely had any proper sleep. And it doesn't look like he'll have any tonight.

_Shit, waking up for school will be a bitch tomorrow._

He tries to doze off again, but fails. Instead, he keeps rolling around in the bed, from side to side. Kicking the thin blanket off then pulling it back on his body again, changing positions every few seconds, sprawling then curling up on himself, and finally utterly failing to find a resting state that would put him at ease and help him slip back into slumber.

So in the end, Dean gives up, jumps out of bed and decides to leave his room altogether.

He's in his boxers, hair mussy and eyes bloodshot - but it's not like anyone's gonna see him anyway.

If he can't have some decent shut-eye or manage to go back to sleep, he might as well properly wake up, eyes wide open. If his parents didn't forbid it, he would put something on and go for an after-midnight run, to get the tension out of his system (he asked once before, and he was given the stink eye by his mom). It's not like he'll be eaten by wild dogs if he ventures alone at night, he's a strong kid and an Alpha, and a boxer with a promising future in the sport on top of that, he can take most people. But, yeah, his mom was up in arms against the idea. And his dad backed Sammy up completely.

Outnumbered, Dean didn't bring it up again. 

Perhaps he'll go check on Adam, he thinks, then trudges barefoot to Adam's room. Adam is sound asleep, looking like a little angel. He looks more like Dean than he does either Castiel or Sam, and Dean finds it endearing. God, does Dean love this kid! He bends forward and plants a soft kiss on his little brother's forehead, then watches him sleep for a few moments. It's actually relaxing just looking at his baby brother, sleeping so serenely without any burdens, Dean thinks. 

For a second he wonders about how his plan will affect Adam, if burdens will eventually find their way to him, because of Dean's silent plotting, especially when Adam grows up in a broken home if Dean has his way. 

The thought is disturbing and Dean quickly dismisses it. _It won't be a broken home; it'll be a loving one, where Dean and Sam are openly together, for good, and Adam is loved and cared for by both of them._ Dean will always protect Adam. He'll die before harming him in any way. Castiel would still be there of course, albeit on the peripheries, as their father, but not as Sam's lover or husband.

"It'll be OK," Dean whispers to his oblivious sibling, as if the alternative non-painful future he drew in his head to calm his conscience is secured and sealed. 

When he finally leaves Adam's room, ready to walk down to the kitchen for some chow (because seriously, he's got nothing better to do) a small sound from the nearby bathroom catches Dean's attention. He treads lightly towards it and it sounds like someone's retching. Worried, Dean knocks on the door. "Is everything alright in there?" It's his mom who answers on the other side, after a long pause, with the affirmative.

God, it sounds like his mommy is sick and now Dean feels a hundred times guiltier than before he went to sleep. Of all the days on Earth, Benny chose today to rat him out, when things are already tricky with his mom, and when Sammy is obviously sick. He thought he forgave the bastard, but you know what, fuck it, he's cutting him out. _Stupid Benny!_  

"You don't sound so good, mom," he responds back.

"It's OK, Dean. Just go back to bed." His mom sounds like he will pass out or something.

"No, I'm coming in," he says, as he turns the door knob, and as per usual, it's unlocked. Sam is the kind of parent who shuts his bathroom door but doesn't lock it, just in case. With a toddler in the house, it makes sense. Sam likes to be available at all times, and he generally doesn't set strict boundaries for his children either - glaringly obvious. Dean usually respects his mom's restroom privacy but he's not doing this now, not when Sammy sounds like he's in distress. 

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him. Sam is on his knees, bent over the toilet bowl, and when he sees Dean walking in, he can't help the wave of nausea that overtakes him and he starts dry heaving into the bowl again. Sam's mouth remains dry. Nothing is actually happening except that it looks like Sammy is seconds away from hyperventilating, and Dean is immediately overcome with worry over his mom, and bursting at the seams with guilt. 

"Mommy, what's wrong?" He says as he approaches, kneeling beside his crouching mom, who's sweaty and looking worn out. Sam is wearing only a threadbare shirt and a pair of shorts that don't hide much of his long legs and toned thighs. Otherwise, his hair is damp and his eyes are swollen with tears, and he looks utterly miserable. "Just a little queazy, Dean," his mom whispers and it's the understatement of the century.

Dean's heart breaks a little. He suddenly feels like hugging his mommy so tight neither of them can breathe, putting into the hug all of his love and his longing until the intensity of it consumes them both. Suddenly, he feels like a piece of shit for even allowing someone like Rhonda into his life, and not just devoting his all to Sam. _What the hell were you thinking Winchester?_ He scolds himself, as he gives his mom another once-over and takes in his sorry state. He knows it might not be him that's causing all this and his mom might be coming down with something, but still, he must have contributed somehow. He can feel it.

"Mom," he says softly.

"What are you doing here, Dean? Really? Go back to your room."

"No!"

"No?"

"Yeah, you heard me, mom. I'm not leaving you."

His mom softens a little. "It's nothing. I'm probably coming down with something, and whatever it is, I don't want you to catch it from me. You've got school tomorrow, you shouldn't be up, Dean. It's past midnight."

"Fuck school," Dean retorts. 

"Dean!"

"Mom, you're more important. And it's not just stomach upset, you've been crying. You're clearly upset!" 

His mom tears up, and shakes his head no.

Sammy's kidding himself if he thinks Dean's budging before he gets to the bottom of this. Something's been off with his mom for weeks and he knows it. Maybe Sam's not sick. He's heaving, but he's not actually throwing up - it looks more like he's having difficulty breathing more than anything else. Maybe this is some kind of a panic attack.

"Mommy, look ..."

"Enough, Dean! Just leave," Sam says, his attempt at being firm and final failing miserably as more tears spring to his eyes. Dean's heart breaks into a million pieces, and he can't help but throw himself into his mom's arms. To his surprise, his mom hugs him back, just as fiercely, heaving sobs racking his body.

They stay like this, locked in each other's arms, for a minute or so, until his mom calms down a little. It's Dean who pulls back to look at his face, and gaze into his eyes - hoping to see some truth there, or at least some clues to what's ruffling Sam's feathers so. When his mom looks back, Dean can get a glimpse into the depth of his sadness, and confusion, and Dean is suddenly, completely rattled by the idea that Rhonda, and his relationship with her, might have caused some of this. He decides to broach the subject head on. No more dancing around it, he can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry about Rhonda," he whispers. And Sam breaks eye contact and pulls away, or tries to. Dean holds on tighter. "No, mom, let me say this. I can see it's bothering you."

"It's fine, Dean," he says, dismissive, squirming, obviously wanting to escape Dean's embrace.

"No, it's not. And for what it's worth, I kept it to myself because it means nothing. Nothing, Ok?" Sam just shakes his head, a single tear escapes his eye, and he smiles, unbelieving. 

"I'm not lying to you, mom. Mom, look at me! Come on ... Sammy!" That gets his mom's attention, and keeps it on him. He's never called him Sammy before. His mom is more confused now, but attentive, locking eyes with his son again. "I would never, ever lie to you about something like this. You're everything," he says, then he gently places a hand at the side of Sam's face, and start kissing his wet-with-tears lips.

As he does, his mom's shoulders drop, like all the fight is leaving his body. Dean deepens his kiss, and brings on his A-game for this one, the tip of his tongue pushing off against Sam's lips, wanting to get inside. Sam opens up for him, without hesitation, and Dean starts moving his open mouth against Sam's, their tongues twisting around each other, tasting and devouring. 

When it's done, they're both slightly panting from lack of air and are a little worse for wear, in a good way. Color is creeping back into Sam's face, and he looks less distraught. Dean gently takes him back into his arms and rests his forehead against his mom's. They close their eyes, and just melt into the comfort of the embrace.

After another moment of silence, his mom speaks up.

"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I understand when you say it's not important but why keep it all from me?"

"I ..." Dean breathes out then stops.

"I saw the pictures on your phone, of her," Sam says, quietly, and Dean's heart drops. He opens his eyes, but his mom's are still shut. "A few weeks back. I'm sorry I went looking." _That doesn't make sense_ , Dean thinks.

_Or maybe it does. Could it be? Could this be why his mom was aloof. Was he angry at Dean for hiding her? Or is it something more? Sam can't even get himself to say Rhonda's name, apparently... Does his mom feel it too? What's between them? Are they finally coming to the same page, here?_

Dean is suddenly dizzy with the near-revelation and the possibilities it holds, for him, for them! 

"You slept with her, Dean."

"Yeah. I did. She's not the only one."

His mom swallows audibly, still resting against him, but now turns his face to the side. Their foreheads are still connecting, albeit at different angles. 

"If it bothers you," Dean begins, not exactly planning his next words. "If there are feelings beyond, you know ... it's fine, I'll just end it with Rhonda first thing tomorrow--"

"Dean, don't ..." Sam's eyes are still closed.

"Don't what? Don't end it? Or do you want me to stop talking about this altogether? Because if there are feelings from your side, mom, I want you to know that they're returned. And more."

"Dean, please."

"I love you, mom." It just slips out of Dean. He doesn't know what else to say. What is there to say really, except that? And he doesn't mean it the platonic way. And his mom senses it, because he pulls back, and so does Dean, and they stare into each other's eyes, his mom's searching his, almost desperately.

He repeats it for good measure, stressing on every word. "I love you."

Sam nods, and for the first time Dean knows that his mom finally gets it ... gets what it _really_ means. 

He looks away, shakes his head a little, like he's dismissing a thought. "Dean, I can't ..."

And suddenly, it feels like a burden has been lifted despite Sammy's words, despite his "I can't". Dean is talking openly - as openly as he can, at this point - about something he feels like he's been bottling inside his chest for centuries, not just a few years. 

"Can't or won't?" He asks softly. 

His mom laughs a little laugh but it's mirthless. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me!" Dean insists, his voice pleading. 

"Dean, it's ... uh, complicated." 

Dean nods.

"Ok, you know what?" Dean says, inspiration hitting him in the depth of the moment. "Right now, it's not. Right now, you're tired, and hurt. I hurt you, mom. And I wanna make it up to you. As your son. As someone who worships you. Let me do this for you." Sam face lights up at the words. And Dean says them but doesn't wait for an answer.

He takes his mommy's arm and helps him stand up. Sam's knees are a little wobbly from kneeling for so long but he balances himself with Dean's aid. Dean drags Sam slowly to the bathroom mirror, which takes a big portion of one wall. He makes him face it, and Sam is reflected in it from his head to the end of his torso now, Dean plastering himself more to Sam's side than his back, so he'd be able to look at their reflection too. Dean may be heavily built and he's the tallest among his friends, nearing six feet at barely 16, but Sam still has about four inches on his son.

Sam leans against Dean and is taking heavy breaths, his eyes are closed, like he's bracing himself for something, like he's on the verge of jumping off a plank into unknown waters and he can't bear to look. Dean caresses his arms lightly with the tips of his fingers to relax him, gets on tiptoes and plants a barely-there kiss on the side of his jaw, then another lower on his neck, and whispers, "beautiful". And for the second time tonight, Sam exhales and relaxes, most of the tension leaves his body. 

"Mom, open your eyes," he whispers, almost into his ears. And Sammy's obviously reluctant, but after a couple of seconds, does it anyway. "Look at you. The most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes upon," Dean says and starts caressing him again with a finger as he speaks. "Your face, your eyes, your cheekbones, your lips," Dean continues as he runs a finger across Sam's face and along the fullness of his lips. "Your arms, your breasts," he adds, trailing his fingers gently up his mom's right arm, across his collarbone then down. He cups a boob, fondling it, and rubs his thumb against the nipple. "So pretty, mom. ... Hey. Look at me. Do you know how long I've loved you?"

Sam's eyes meet Dean's in the mirror and they fill with tears at the question. Sam slowly nods. Dean smiles wide, "I've been dreaming of touching you like this since I was 12" he adds, then turns Sam's face to the side and gives his towering mommy a deep, lingering kiss, before Sam has a chance to realise what this means. The wheels in his mom's head almost never stop grinding.

"Let me take care of you for once. Let me wash you," Dean says right into Sammy's lips, and again, Sammy nods, like he's hypnotized. Dean gives him another peck on the lips, and thinks _this is it_. _This is the beginning of everything._

He leaves his mom for just a moment to turn on the shower water, close the tub's drain stopper and let it fill as the water sprays. He locks the bathroom door, then he gets back to their position at the mirror. "I want you to watch as I undress you. I want you to see how beautiful you are. How perfect."

And it's like a dream how Sammy, his mom, lets himself go and lets Dean take off his clothes - he raises his arms above his head as Dean takes his shirt off, watches his breasts get bared to his son's eyes, looks at Dean looking at him, eating him up with his eyes, he doesn't flinch when Dean tugs on the waistbands of his shorts and slips them off of him. He steps out of them, the air touching his uncovered skin, making him conscious of his nudity, his naked ass, his cock soft but filling up, slowly jutting out of a nest of dark hair, as Dean watches. He's seeing everything. His own son looking at him, like this, taking him all in, from head to toe.

Sam is blushing furiously, but he's letting it all happen. At Dean's direction, he steps under the warm spray of water.

Dean slips off his boxers too, and joins him.

His son is hard and Sam's now staring at his impressive girth, both proud and intrigued ... and suddenly more than a little afraid. It suddenly hits him what he's allowing his son and him to have, if only for a moment. As if sensing his fear, Dean tells him not to think. "Just feel. Right now, we're not mother and son. We're just two people who love each other ... OK? In this moment, we can be together. Please, please ... for me." 

They stand under the shower, for a few minutes, mesmerized, both watching each other and almost afraid to touch. Dean can't believe he's having this moment, that he's standing in the shower with his buck naked mom, finally, free to look, at his breasts, his stomach, his groin, his long legs ... his nakedness, his most private parts are his, at least for the moment.

Their feet are immersed in water now, the tub is almost half filled. Dean turns off the spray and tells his mom to just lay back in the water, as he sits at his feet, at the other end of the tub. "Just lay back mom, relax and close your eyes." The water doesn't quite cover Sam's big body, and his breasts and cock, parts of his thighs and his bent knees jut out of the water.

When Sam settles back, Dean takes Sam's right foot into the palms of his hands. He cradles it and begins kneading, massaging it all over and tugging on the toes. As he relaxes even more, trusting, Sam lets his thighs fall open and Dean watches Sam's half-flaccid cock grow before his eyes. Sam is well aware he's being watched, that his nudity is very much being observed and it sends a tingle down his spine and he gets butterflies in his stomach - just from being looked at like this. Dean enjoys the view as he rubs the sole of one foot after the other with his fingers, then he runs his open mouth along Sam's beautiful feet, and lovingly sucks his toes.

When he's done, his mom is fully hard, and leaking precum - and just the act of watching that, his mom getting hot and bothered, being massaged into a hard-on, right under his gaze, was enough to send Dean's blood pooling to his groin, leaving him with a raging hard-on. 

He lets Sam's feet go, and slowly crawls into his mom's arms, and lies on top of him, their hard cocks lined up, touching, and their faces inches away from each other. Sam opens his eyes for a moment, his lids lazy and droopy, his mouth pouting, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide, and Dean thinks, "this is it," and starts rubbing his full length against Sam's.

Dean's in heaven. Sam's head falls slightly back, and Dean thinks, this is what his mom looks like when he's in the throes of pleasure. It's not a fantasy, he's not dreaming, he's witnessing it for real. His mom moans sweetly and Dean chooses this moment to lock their lips together, swallow the moan and they kiss opened mouthed as they rut heavily into each other, skin on skin, nothing between them, their cocks hard, heavy and drooling. It takes only an embarrassingly few moments before Dean loses it and he comes all over himself and his mom, the orgasm barreling through him and taking his breath away.

Sam is hot on his heels, his body seizing and his moans drowned by his son's open-mouthed kisses. They continue devouring each other's lips for minutes, then Dean feels something else, like his mommy is getting another orgasm, he can feel the racking vibration travel across his mom's body, who's plastered to his, almost from head to toe (if it weren't for the height difference), and his mom moans again. Dean pulls away, a line of spit connecting his lips to his mom's. "What was that?" he whispers, and his mom is very obviously embarrassed, a serious flush is creeping up his face. He looks away, avoiding eye contact. Dean pulls away a little, looks between them, at their cocks, and it looks like Sam just spilled his seed, from his dick, and it's a full orgasm. A second one. That's impossible for an omega, in his age, unless ... 

 _What? Was the first time_ ... "Mommy, did you squirt? The first time, was that your asshole?" If possible, Sam turned even redder and one hand came up to cover his face. "Oh dear God," he says, panting like he's been running a marathon. Dean, who's beaming now, can't help asking, "Does this happen a lot? I mean, I know you get wet down there when you're turned on but are you used to orgasming this way, from your butthole?" For a moment it looks like his mom won't answer, just talking about it sends a dark thrill through Dean's body. His mommy squirted, in his arms, like a girl. His cunt gushing out slick. Dean is building up to another orgasm just thinking about what just happened. It's fucking dirty. Imagine how Sam feels.  

Finally, Sam shakes his head no. Then confirms it in words, "no. It's, uhm, my first time." Poor Sam looks like he's going to cry. His first time and Dean is proudly responsible for it. He feels like it should be on the news. Sam's shame is turning him on even more.

Dean reaches out, takes Sam's hand away from his face, and into his own, interlacing their fingers together. He waits. When his mom finally opens his eyes, and looks back at him, cheeks beautifully red, Dean smiles, then whispers against Sam's mouth, "One day, I will make you feel so damn good, kiss you all over, touch you, take you apart. But this time, I will sit between your open legs, I will look at your gaping asshole and I'll watch you cum like this." He kisses him hard. "It's a promise, Sammy."

....

Hours later, when the sun has come up, Castiel wakes up to find his bed cold and empty. _Huh_. _Sam must have waken up before him_ , he thinks and pushes himself out of the bed. The house is quiet, not like it would if Sam had woken up first for an early shower, to feed Adam, or to prepare breakfast down in the kitchen. As he passes by Dean's room, something inside of Cas beckons and he decides to quietly open the door and check on his son. 

And there is Sam, locked with Dean in an embrace so tight, you can't tell the young man and his mom apart, where one begins and the other ends, their limbs tangled together and their faces up against each other, their mouths breathing the same air. _Like lovers_ , Cas thinks and he's immediately overcome by a brand of jealousy he rarely ever experiences when it comes to his son's and Sam's relationship.

Yesterday, only yesterday, his wife was distant and burdened, crying through sex and Castiel couldn't comfort him, and now he's lying in his Alpha son's arms like he belongs there, his face restful and blissed out. 

Perhaps for the first time, Castiel feels like he's lacking, like he's not enough for Sam, and it makes him feel small, and useless. And somehow Dean has something to do with this, and Cas feels it's more direct than meets the eye. _As if, for some reason, Dean is purposely driving them apart. No, it can't be._

But still, their closeness, how they're tied up together, that just can't be normal, Cas thinks. He releases a sigh and he decides to talk to Sam about it - not in passing, not on the sidelines of another argument but for real this time.

He dares to look at them again, holding tight to each other, even in sleep, like they're the last two people on Earth, then he gets out, and shuts Dean's bedroom behind him. 

 _You must put a stopper on this ... thing, Castiel. This unhealthy co-dependencey,_ he thinks darkly, a lump getting wedged in his throat, his heart already feeling the heaviness of that inevitable conversation with Sam.

Castiel gets ready for work, makes his own breakfast, and as he does, he thinks he knows what he might do about it, for starters. He just hopes his wife won't hate him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens ;) Also, don't expect Sam to always be this submissive and willing. In fact, things will go south from here (sorry!)
> 
> As always, honest feedback and thoughts are most welcome. I always love reading your interpretations of events and characters and your meditation on this love story. It always inspires me and sometimes helps me understand the characters better. And thanks a mill for reading xox


	13. Breaking up, breaking down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the tail end of the previous chapter. Dean ties a loose thread. Castiel has a heart-to-heart with his mom. Sam makes some disturbing realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a long one, but it's not short. 
> 
> This is just me not wanting to keep you waiting for long, so I'm giving you something to chew on until the next big juicy chapter.

Following their steamy night together, Dean oversleeps.

So the next morning, when he realizes his tardiness, he jumps out of bed (jolting his mother awake as he does) and he gets ready for school in a rush. He is barely able to mouth a few words to his mother, as Sam prepares some sandwiches for him, before he is forced to snatch them out of Sam's hands and shoot off to catch his ride with Jo and Ellen as he does some mornings.

Before he leaves, though, he remembers to give Sammy a small peck on the mouth but that's it.

Even in his hurry, Dean is able to feel how Sam has already slipped into the "mommy" frame of mind. Last night, after their intimate time under the shower, they got dressed, and slipped into bed together, facing each other. They murmured sweet nothings into each other's lips and slept soundly in each other's arms. During those moments, Dean had felt they were _together together_. Almost like husband and wife. And he guesses, the feeling was mutual.

It was a delicious sensation.

But now, he's not so sure. In the light of day, things are off. Of course, he had expected his mom to still resist this new thing between them, to relapse and to take sanctuary in denial, at first, but eventually, Dean thinks Sammy should come around.

 _At least, it's what he hopes and prays for_.

The school day inches forward and Dean is itching for it to end so that he can meet up with Rhonda after. He told her earlier he wanted to talk to her. She said OK. When she leaned forward for a kiss, however, Dean turned his face sideways and Rhonda took the hint, and backed off. She looked curious but she didn't ask.

_Smart girl. She knows when he's bottled up tight. Dean guesses it shows in his features, in his eyes, in the way he carries himself._

When it was finally time for them to meet, Rhonda was late. Dean stood outside of school shifting nervously on his feet, and checking his watch every few minutes. It's 10 minutes past their meeting time. 15 minutes. Now 20.

Thirty long minutes later, Rhonda appears, and Dean is furious she kept him waiting cos he's due for boxing soon.

But he doesn't want to be sidetracked. He's not here to talk to Rhonda about her erratic habits or general lack of responsibility. He's here to fuckin' end whatever it is that's between them.

When he goes back to Sammy, he wants to tell him that Rhonda is history - it's the least he can do, it'll be his apology. 

When Rhonda's close enough to him to be in earshot, Dean smirks and asks if she's finally done blowing the football team. Rhonda, uncharacteristically, looks hurt by the sneer. Dean doesn't even bother listening to her excuses as she rambles. Detention, she says. Dean can't care less at the moment.

He doesn't beat around the bush.

"Listen, Rhonda. I'll be forward here. You and I? We're done." 

"Slow down, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing. It's just, it's not working. Stops here."

"Really? That's it? You owe me some explanation, dude. We've been together, like what, two, three months? I've never had this before."

"Actually, we've never been together. Not really. I was clear from the onset, Rhonda. This was never headed anywhere. It's just sex ... Was."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for my benefit, hun," she says, sarcastic, and for a moment, she looks older than her years. Like a woman who's been hurt and trampled on over and over. Like someone who knows the drill. 

"Can't think how you could've expected anything else, considering ... " Dean trails off, and just gestures meaningfully between them.

"Well, yeah. You introduced me to your friends," she says it, like she hasn't seen it coming, clearly bewildered, and she's back to sounding like the teen that she is again. "Paraded me, more like it. I thought, you know--"

"Yeah, whatever it is, I don't wanna hear any more of it, Rhonda. Bottom line? You thought wrong."

"You know what? You're a jackass, Dean!" 

"Whatever," Dean says, then notices how flushed Rhonda's face is and how her speech is somewhat slurred, only a little but Dean is observant. "Wait, have you been drinking?"

"No!" she says, then shrugs "Ok, I might have had a few brews." She smiles wryly and wiggles her eyebrows. _Totally inappropriate_ , thinks Dean, considering they just "broke up" and she'd just started calling him names. 

"At school? For fuck's sake Rhonda. Go easy on the alcohol ... and on rule breaking. Sometimes, it's not as cool as you think." For a second there, even Dean thought he might have been genuinely concerned. He sure sounds like it. But he doesn't stop to mull it over, and barrels on. "You know what? I don't care," he says, hands up in the air ... "So am I clear? Will you remember this conversation tomorrow?"

"I'm not gone, Dean, it was just a couple of beers. I'll remember," she says, and her frown is back. And that look of hurt from earlier. 

Sure, Rhonda is a slut, and she's older, but did Dean expect her not to have feelings at all? Obviously, she has some. Maybe she actually likes him or something, like she might have developed feelings, Dean thinks and shudders at the thought. It's easier to break up with someone knowing they were both goofing off, playing around, anything but being serious. But if feelings are involved ... well, he can't do a thing about it anyway, not now. 

He starts backing off, when Rhonda asks: "So who is it? Is it _the boy_ or someone new?"

Dean shakes his head, frustrated. "It's none of your business," he says, turning away. 

"Oh well, good luck Dean," she calls out after him, her voice now pitched a little higher. "I really mean it. Cos from the sound of it, if it's the thing with the married boy, you'll need some luck ... And by the way, when the whole thing crashes and burns, you'll come crawling back to Rhonda." 

This makes Dean's blood boil but he suppresses it. It's the malice, and sheer confidence, lacing her words that anger him. 

He slows down, and turns, taps his watch and tells her he's gotta run. He notices her eyes are teary. He's surprised but that doesn't stop him from being final about it all. "Gotta catch training. You done?"

She crosses her arms, looks away huffing a breath, then looks back at him again, meeting his eye: "See you later, Dean." _It feels like a challenge_ , Dean thinks. 

"Don't think so. Bye, Rhonda."

"Tall order," she spits, and Dean doesn't grace it with a response.

.... 

On his way back from work, Castiel decides to do something he hasn't done in a long time: swing by his parents' house.

He knows his dad is away on business; he keeps tabs on the going ons of his family, albeit from a distance, mainly through his sister Naomi whom he calls regularly.

Generally, his mother and Naomi are his favorites. He's emotionally distant from everyone else, and considering how he was brought up, Cas doesn't think anyone can blame him.

When he arrives there, even Naomi is out with friends, and it's only his mother, Deanna, who's at home.

Castiel's family can afford to hire several housekeepers and one of them lets him in.

He's in the terrace, gazing into the distance, enjoying their well-kept garden view, when his mom walks in on him. She still looks surprised that he's here, but unlike his father, Deanna is always welcoming and usually refrains from asking too many questions - Castiel believes it's partly due to her omega nature and how she's conditioned not to challenge or cause discomfort to an Alpha.

That being said, his mom is anything but submissive. Castiel's parents are blindly traditional and Deanna is a typical omega in many ways except for that. In her own very sly, passive aggressive way, she can hold her own. She even tricks his father sometimes into submitting to her will, mostly through the power of suggestion. 

Castiel used to marvel at how she does it. He used to be proud of her for managing like this in a house full of Alphas. That is, until, Deanna didn't bat an eyelid when Cas was thrown out of favor for choosing Sam.

It was probably of course because she didn't approve either - she tried to change his mind many times over. All the same, Castiel had expected his mom to have his back, and for a long while, he resented the fact that when it came to Sam, she didn't and he was on his own. Only Naomi was mildly sympathetic. 

But this is all in the past. Now, they've all reached a peaceful understanding, and Castiel had managed to forgive the majority of their actions, even found it in himself to appreciate and love his family again. His father - who rarely initiates contact - even called him a month earlier informing him that he is to make arrangements to be there during the Lupercalia festival next year, "with your family," his father had said, emphasizing the words, almost enunciating them, to indicate that Sam must come along, since he's usually absent from any Winchester family gatherings. It's a long enough notice. His father was making sure Castiel would have no excuse not to attend, along with Sam, and the kids of course. 

At the beginning, Sam was (like Cas) barred from the Winchester house. When amends were made and Sam was finally allowed to be part of the family functions again, his wife was reluctant to make any appearances. Sam almost always chose to fall back, and let Castiel make appearances alone with Dean and Adam - something that Castiel's father saw as another sign of weakness; a proof that Castiel can't control his omega, and a potent reminder that his son had parted with their traditions and lifestyle.

But it looks like, at the Lupercalia, Sam has to be there, and it's Castiel's father that is putting his foot down this time and is making the decision for all of them.

Castiel doesn't mind it, since Dean's Alpha status will be officially acknowledged and celebrated, and it's a big deal. Considering how Dean's nature is shaped, from what Cas can tell, Dean wouldn't want to miss it either. Cas thinks Sam should be there for his son's coming of age as well.

On the terrace, though, all these thoughts are skipped in favor of greeting Deanna. Cas bends forward to pull his much shorter mother into his arms, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. After giving her a brief report of their latest, including his upcoming promotion, almost a reality now, Deanna smiles softly then asks how he's _really_ doing. 

"I'm fine, I guess. Just a little overworked."

His mother gives a knowing smile, about to say something when a female servant comes in with a tray. "Here, have some camomile," she says, offering him one of the tea cups. "I've asked Jill to add some cinnamon to it. It's the way you like it, isn't it?" It's not a question. His mother knows him inside out. 

Castiel takes the tea and it's just the right temperature. When he starts sipping, the warm juice warms him up inside, and the smell relaxes him. He closes his eyes, savoring. 

"So, trouble in paradise?" his mom asks, seemingly nonchalant, like she's talking about the weather.

"Nah, Sam and I are good." Cas lies, a lump rising in his throat at the mention of his wife. Then he remembers the night before, the crying, his failure to comfort Sam and Sam ending up in Dean's bed. He clears the imaginary mass in his throat and swallows. "Why would you think so, mom?"

"Well, you're here to talk about something."

Castiel throws his head back and smiles, amused. "Can't a son swing by to see his mother these days without harboring an agenda?" 

"A son can. But you're not here just to see me, sweetheart. And we both know it," she says it and sips on her own tea, smiling.

There's not a hint of resentment in her voice. She's always genuinely happy when Castiel seeks her - it's not very often that he does anymore, not since he married Sam, but it still happens sometimes. Cas and Deanna always had a special relationship. Of all her sons, he was the closest to her. Perhaps it's his dampened Alpha nature, and his reluctance to give orders, his sensitivity growing up (especially after he met Sam), that endeared him to her - the opposite of the effect all this had on Castiel's father. 

Castiel sighs, gives his mother a long look and somehow he feels she knows already what all his woes are for, even if she really doesn't.

"I want to send Dean away," he says finally, his voice even. 

His mom nods, like she expected it. Of course, she didn't. She's not privy to Castiel's thoughts, or the details of his life. But her nod is one of understanding, or perhaps foresight. Like she knew things would eventually come to that. 

"Where to?"

"Haven't decided on this yet. Perhaps here? I don't know."

"Clearly, you don't," says his mom, her tone suddenly acquiring a firmer tang. "You know our ways Castiel. This is a traditional household. Your father still rules this house. You surely don't expect Dean to fit in, or fall in line, considering the way you've raised him, do you? It will be hard on all of us. And Dean is almost a man, now. A boarding school will do him better. It'll be painfully difficult to bend him out of shape and force him to follow our house rules. And if he's anything like you or Sam, it will be impossible to tame him."

"That's the thing, mother. Dean is different." _Like my father and my brothers_ , he almost says. He swallows the words, and thinks of a way to put this, without sounding like he's regretting the lifestyle he chose or failing to control his own son's leanings towards the tradition.

His mom doesn't comment, just waits for him to collect his thoughts.

As if responding to an unasked question, Castiel, now getting worked up (though still projecting a calm manner), begins again, "I can't describe it. He's not like me or Sam. He has his own ... thoughts."

"Did he voice any objections to your lifestyle?"

"Not in words."

"Ok, sweetheart, what's really at stake here? And what does your wife think of this?"

"Sam, ha!" Cas says, and shakes his head. "Sam doesn't see a problem. He's ... well, he's Sam. He worships the ground Dean walks on, and Dean ends up walking all over us. Or tries."

"Hmmm."

Somehow, her silence sounds accusing to Castiel's ears, like his mom wants to ask Cas, _what did you expect?_

"Mother, it's not us. There's nothing wrong with the way we raised him."

"Well, and I didn't suggest it!"

"Perhaps Sam was a little too lenient. But I overcompensated in this area," Casiel says, clearly still defensive.

It's his mother's turn to sigh.

"What is this really about, Castiel?" 

Cas doesn't know where to begin. So he stays silent and looks away, contemplating. He knows his mother is watching closely, he can almost feel his thoughts being read, his every gesture processed and analyzed. His mother, however, doesn't force an answer out of him, instead joins him in his silence.

After a while, not too long, Deanna moves closer to him then takes one of his hands in both of hers and squeezes, reassuring. "It's fine not to know, Castiel. Not to feel in control. The uncertainty. It comes with being a parent."

"How did father do it?" Cas asks watching their clasped hands, grateful for the warmth it's pumping into him. 

"You know how, son," says his mom, her lips pursed, like she's lightly scolding. She's not. 

"Yeah, I guess," Castiel says, then gently slips his hand out of his mother's, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. 

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Not really."

"Well, here's what you could do. How about you sleep tonight, and we talk again tomorrow? I'm assuming you haven't talked to your wife about sending Dean away."

"You're correct in your assumption, mother."

"Well then, if you want my advise, talk to Sam. And if you're serious about having Dean move here, we'll discuss the details then. I'd be happy to. But at least give me a chance to test the waters with your father, see if he'll like the idea to begin with. See if he has any considerations. And God knows, even if agrees, he'll want to lay down some laws. And trust me, knowing you, sweetheart, you'll hate most of them." 

Castiel huffs a laugh. "You bet," he says, and he feels grateful for his mother.

She's right. He should talk to Sam first. He should think about what this means for all of them. And man, he should sleep. His mother and him talk some more, casually, about Naomi, the family business, and his brothers, then Castiel soon excuses himself to leave.

He's already tired by work and a mind that doesn't wane. His mother gives him a parting hug that for a moment makes it feel like things are right again. Then Castiel takes off. On his way home, his phone rings, and it's Sam. 

....

Sam spends the day doing everything mechanically. He's on autopilot when he's arranging beds, cleaning the house, feeding and bathing Adam plus entertaining him, going out for some grocery shopping, cooking lunch, and then starting early on dinner preparations as he tries to subdue a moody Adam. In that order. 

Except for the few hours of sleep he caught last night, he has been insomniac and in turn dead on his feet for weeks. 

He hasn't eaten anything either. He doesn't feel like tasting food today. And he feels he'll soon empty his stomach if he does. 

Dean will be late today on account of boxing training, and God knows when Castiel will finish work.

So, in conclusion, he's running on an empty stomach, on little sleep, and he's on his own ...

... with his thoughts of course. 

Sam can only block what happened the night before for so long before it catches up with him. Just a few fragmented thoughts of how he and Dean were together are enough to send the blood in his veins rushing downstairs, making his face heat up, partly in shame at how the memories turn him on.

The thought of having the privilege of being intimate with Dean revoked (if he faces reality and puts an end to this, as he should) is dark and daunting. 

_His head is killing him._

When his mind finally stops chasing the racing thoughts of how he and his son ended up like _this_ and starts digesting what he got himself into, his mood starts to be choleric, and Sam starts absently taking it on Adam - he's wearing a pained expression, he's distant, impatient, and at one point he finally snaps at his three-year-old. Adam's lips pout sadly, quiver and he starts to cry, then wail, breaking Sam's heart to pieces.

"I'm sorry, so sorry sweetheart," begins Sam, realizing his mistake.

"Mommy hateses Adam," he says between hiccups, his face blotched and teary. Of course Adam thinks he hates him. He's been anything but present for the boy today. 

"Never!" Sam says, and kisses his son's red and wet cheeks repeatedly, and hugs him close. "You're my sweetest. I could never."

It's a wake up call, of sorts. And Sam decides he should rest his over-exhausted brain and body and sit down with Adam to watch some cartoons or something, and try to get himself together. So he abandons the task at hand, _screw dinner prepping_ , takes Adam to the living room, and tries to make up with his son by offering some ice cream and some downtime in front of the TV, a suggestion to which Adam is enthusiastic and giddy.

And thankfully, all's forgiven!

_Sam still refuses to eat._

A couple of hours later when Adam is napping in the safety of Sam's arms, it all finally sinks in.

What he's doing to his family. What he has done long ago when he sought Dean for comfort, ruining his own son and inspiring forbidden thoughts in him by forcing himself on Dean. Not listening to Cas' warnings about how tied up he is with Dean. And now, cheating on his husband with his own son, allowing himself to have something he should never have.

Sam cannot lie to himself any longer. It was already happening when he allowed Dean to smash through one boundary after another. It was decided the moment Sam let his guard down and allowed himself to  _enjoy_  and relish in how Dean was braving new territory, one after another. It happened because Sam let himself get carried away ... until Dean's kisses and hugs and attention became his bread and butter, and until Dean became more important to him than the air he breathes.

He's a _bad,_ needy mother and a worse caretaker, and now he could lose everything if he doesn't backtrack and try to cure Dean of the very thing that he, as a mother, caused due to his own shortcomings and emotional defects. 

Sam starts crying, for the umpteenth time, only this week, and as he cries, his chest closes up, not just with guilt towards his family, but with his longing for Dean still, with the realization that he'll end it.

 _He loves him._  He's in love with his son. He loves him in ways he cannot count. He loves him in a perverted, twisted way.

And he doesn't want to end this thing between them. _If Dean abandons him altogether, he'll collapse_ , he thinks, and hugs Adam closer and cries some more.

He must do it then, Sam decides. When Dean's back, he'll sit down with him, and let him know. He'll tell him it's not his fault, at least not just his fault. He'll ask his son for forgiveness. And he'll be ready to bear the consequences of his deviance - including the possibility that he may never be forgiven. Not by himself at least. 

He gets up, Adam still in his arms, and he puts his kid in his room so he'll continue napping, as late as it is in the afternoon for siestas. Sam knows he'll pay the price for this in the form of a grumpy kid, who'll refuse to sleep on time, later in the night. But that's later. He'll deal with it then. 

Now, he goes into the restroom to splash his face with some water. After he does, and as he still stands over the sink, tired, and holding onto its edge with both hands, his grip hard, he dares to glance at his reflection in the mirror and he looks like a ghost of himself.

He can't believe that after being so close to something he thought was impossible, an intimacy he never experienced in his life before, a completeness he might not have ever again, he'll let it go ... He can't fathom that after having a taste of something he didn't know he'd always longed for until he had it, that he will be forced to give it up.

_He wishes he had never tasted it to begin with._

The tears come. He starts sobbing again, so hard, until he feels his chest is aching and his breaths are coming shorter and shorter. And until he feels he needs something, an anchor, because he's drowning fast. He's suddenly barely clinging to consciousness. 

Weary and swaying on his feet, he reaches for his cell phone, wedged in his jeans pocket, removes it and blearily dials Castiel's number. 

When his husband finally picks up, Sam only has the energy for muttering a few words before, with a heavy thud, he collapses to the floor.

"Cas. Help me."

Then darkness overtakes him. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you are tempted to hate Dean at this very moment, and side with Cas. And Castiel IS generally amazing, and sadly, he's caught up in this co-dependant relationship between Sam and Dean, and it's eating him up. 
> 
> But I want you to put in mind that this is Dean, as a teen, hopped up on his desires for a love forbidden to him, and carrying the resentments, penchant for drama and rebellious streak any kid his age usually is. But he will change as he grows older, so hopefully, he won't be such a dick forever. I'd hate to spoil the image of the Dean we all love, the one who would die for family and who has a heart of gold beneath the rough exterior. Think of this Dean here as a completely human Demon!Dean, with all the rough edges, the rawness, without inhibitions. Except that this version of Demon!Dean is young and not villainous. He's just clinging to Sam, and he is desiring him violently. 
> 
> Dean will mature, but mind you, this won't un-complicate things, because yes, he won't be as selfish and he'll start to see things from a different perspective but no, he won't give up Sammy. And therein lies all the drama. 
> 
> Until he's older and wiser, Dean will remain a dick however, zeroed in on his desire for Sam and nothing else (he just wants him, come what may), stepping brutally on everyone that comes between them. But with an older Dean will come a responsibility to his family that will make things clearer, albeit, harder on him, and should drive (not a change of heart) but definitely a change in strategy, attitude and some compromises. But hey, I don't want to tell too much. I wanna show you. So bear with me! :-)
> 
> Feedback and reflections are most welcome. Don't hold back please! I wanna hear all your thoughts. Like I said, it all helps me understand how you see the story, and it gives me ideas sometimes. xoxo
> 
> \-----
> 
> IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings" besides the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL WARNINGS ARE LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may warn for some things and not others. So please note that I may not warn for major things, mainly to avoid spoilers. 
> 
> The tags have been amended to reflect this. So please continue to read at your own risk! (I hope you end up choosing to read, but that's up to you of course). 
> 
> Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx


	14. - Intermission -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thank you, a link to my tumblr with some steamy hot fanart. Oh, I also have some questions for you all, my awesome readers, regarding the story. xoxoxo

I just wanted to let you all know that:

1\. I'm writing a new chapter. And I have outlined several more. This is going to be a long story y'all.

2\. Holy hell! 866 kudos! I'm humbled. Thank you all so much for reading.

3\. In case you don't know, I'm on [tumblr](http://joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/) ... I don't share stories there, but a collection of fanart that inspire my writing. Feel free to take a look. 

4\. I'm grateful for all your attention and support. There are a handful of comments that I still haven't responded to. I will do so very soon. I apologise for the delay. And please, please do continue to share your reflections on the story whenever you want. Your thoughts on the story are always welcome. It's my pleasure to read them really. Like everyone else, I'm a whore for praise. BUT my favorite type of comments are the ones with analysis, critique, honest reflections and predictions. So don't hold back.

5\. I have made my mind about the direction of the story, but just as an excercise, and for my own information, so I can understand my readers' needs better:

           A. How many of you want unconscious Sam to be found by Dean and not Cas? Do you want Dean to arrive home first?

           B. Do you think Castiel will really send Dean away? ...

           C. Considering how Sam felt in the last chapter, how many of you fear that Sam might actually support Cas' decision to send Dean away if it all goes down like Cas wants? 

           D. I know that some of you already support the whole sending Dean away, and others loathe it. But if you're with the plot line that sees Dean leaving his family home to live with the elder Winchesters, I'd love to hear from you on why you approve of it.

(Am I asking too many questions? lol! Also, feel free to ignore me completely. it won't hurt my feelings. Or maybe it will, but I won't stop updating so don't you worry about that)

6\. Much love! And see you soon on this space ;) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't mind volunteering as a beta reader for this fic, please shoot an email to Joanna.lee.ao3@gmail.com
> 
> \-----
> 
> IMPORTANT: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings" besides the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL WARNINGS ARE LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may warn for some things and not others. So please note that I may not warn for major things, mainly to avoid spoilers.
> 
> The tags have been amended to reflect this. So please continue to read at your own risk! (I hope you end up choosing to read, but that's up to you of course).
> 
> Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx


	15. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a long(er) chapter. But again, I caved under the pressure of not wanting to make you wait. So here's Sam's awakening. Short and sweet, I hope. (Well, 4,000+ words but you know what I mean).

Dean walks into the house, following boxing training, to the eerie sound of baby screams, muffled behind a door. When he strains his ears, as he steps forward towards the stairs, he can hear nothing else - he can't hear the voice of Sammy sushing Adam or trying to soothe him, as he would, or any sounds to indicate his other parent is around. And suddenly Dean is gripped by worry. He throws his backpack off his shoulders, and runs up the stairs, two at a time, and straight to Adam's room. 

The crying becomes louder as he approaches, but as he passes the lit bathroom, with its door ajar, he comes to a halt and his heart almost stills, as he recognizes the figure lying on the floor. His mommy is turned on his side, in the recovery position, but more like he was trying to get up and failed. His arms are limp and his phone is barely held in a loose grip in one hand. Dean momentarily freezes. His heart is in his throat and his knees become weak. He's torn between wanting to follow the sound of the baby screams of his distressed little brother and checking on his obviously unconscious Sam. He quickly makes a decision. As his pulse quickens and thunders in his ears, he runs towards his mom, crouching down so fast, his knees hit then skid along the hard floor. That will hurt something bad later, when the adrenaline has left his body.

"Mom," he says, his voice quivering, and laced with panic. It feels like a nightmare. He checks for pulse, it's there, a little slower than usual but solid. Right now, he can't tell if he's imagining the change in speed but as long as it's there, Dean is happy. "Sweetheart," he pleads, as he laces his hands through his Sammy's hair. As his fingers make contact with the skin on Sam's forehead, however, Dean's surprised at how warm it is. He puts the back of his hand to Sammy's forehead, then his palm to Sammy's cheek, and realizes that his mom is burning up. 

Adam's crying continues unabated, and the thought that maybe Adam is hurt too hits Dean like a brick to the face, so he gets up and hurries to his baby brother's room. He'll make sure he's Ok, then come back to his mom without missing a beat. "I'll be back, Sammy," he whispers.

When he turns the door knob and steps into Adam's room, his brother is standing up in his crib, and when he sees Dean, he cries even harder - it looks like he's been weeping himself hoarse for a while. "Shhh, I'm here, I'm here, Adam," Dean says as he fetches his brother and runs back to the restroom. "Are you OK, buddy? Anything hurts?" Dean has to repeat the questions twice for Adam to focus, regain some composure, ease on the crying enough to say, "no. Mommy left Adam all, all alone," he says between huffed breaths. "Bed is too high DeeDee, Adam can't leave." He's probably just afraid and hungry then, and by the smell of it, needs a diaper change. Yup, Adam is one of those babies that are too stubborn for toilet training, so he uses the potty or the toilet modified with a baby seat only in his good moods or when he's being promised a reward.

But Dean doesn't have time to attend to Adam. Now that he knows his brother is not hurt, his mind zeroes in on his mommy again. When they're back in the restroom, Adam starts screaming frantically when he sees Sam on the floor. "What's wrong with mommy!?" Dean shushes him again, and places him on the step up stool that they usually put for Adam so he can reach the toilet and try and sit by himself. 

"Hey," Dean says to get his attention. "Hey, buddy. Mommy's fine. He's just asleep, he's very tired. I need to help him wake up and you need to be a big guy for me, and stay here, so I can help mommy. OK?" Dean uses his teen Alpha voice to solidify his order-masquerading-as-a-kind-request, and Adam recognizes the difference between his usual brotherly voice, and this, with a shadow of firmness that Adam is not used to sensing from Dean. And luckily, he responds to it. Teary eyed and red-faced, he nods solemnly, like the three-year-old has suddenly recognized that Dean is in charge and that he needs to get out of the way, or better, have his big brother's back. "Ok, DeeDee," he says, like a good soldier, holding back a sob. "Good boy," responds Dean, kissing his forehead. Then quick as lightning, he's by his mom's side, gently shaking his shoulders, and checking his temperature again. 

Should he call 911 or wait to see if he can wake up his mom? As he thinks, his fingers are working, checking for bruises or signs that Sam has injured his head or another part of his body when he fell - Dean learned much about falling during boxing training and now he's trying to put some of this knowledge to use. _Breathe, Dean_ , he tells himself, as he feels panic rising again. _If something happens to Sammy, especially after last night_ \--no, he won't think it. He can't afford to. He'll collapse himself if his mind goes there. _Sammy is going to be alright, dammit._

His mother's eyes flutter open, and Dean takes that breath (or 10) that he was holding, and he can almost literally feel it as his lungs get filled with air again. Sam's eyes are glassy though, and he lethargically bats his eyelids. "Sweetheart, you with me?" Dean whispers. Sam swallows thickly and his eyes travel across this side of the room, taking in his surroundings, then they fasten on Dean's face again. "Yeah," he croaks weakly. Dean's gotta make sure his mom's aware, and not concussed. 

"Do you know who I am? Where you are?" Dean sees the shadow of a smile, despite Sam's bleariness. Sam tries to move his head, as he attempts to turn onto his back, but groans in pain instead. 

"Hey, hey, don't move," says Dean, taking one of Sam's hands into his, interlacing their fingers together. He needs to give Sammy something solid to hold on to. "Just answer the question. Please."

Sam coughs a little, then breathes the words out, with difficulty, "you're my Dean." Dean's eyes tear up at the words, and he smiles, "that's right, I'm yours. Always ... uh, how many fingers am I holding up?" he says, as he holds up three fingers. "Three," Sam huffs out, correctly, but it does look like it's painful to string words together.

"Mommy, do you feel pain in your head?"

"Yeah."

"How bad is it? On a scale of one to ten."

"Don't know," he says, slurring. "6. 7 maybe."

"High, but I'm guessing if something was strained or broken, it would've been close to a 9 perhaps." 

"Adam."

"He's here, mom." 

At the mention of his name, Adam, as if sensing it's OK for him to move now from his designated spot waddles towards Dean who's hunched over their mom, and Sam sighs heavily as his other son comes into view. A tear escapes Sam's eye and falls to the floor. About to throw himself at his mom, Adam is stopped from lunging forward by Dean so he wouldn't hurt Sammy. "Easy, tiger," he says. "Mommy will hug you when he's completely awake. Now, he's still half asleep, ok buddy?" Adam nods, surprisingly understanding for his age, and considering his neediness for his mom. 

"Sweetheart, try moving your legs for me, even a little." Sam does, and Dean huffs another sigh, his own body coming under control as his fears are squashed in stages with every relatively good sign. 

One by one, Dean goes through a number of questions, impressed that he's calm enough to remember the ABC's of this. Perhaps Dean should call an ambulance, but not before attempting to bring down Sammy's temperature, he thinks. Even as bleary and tired as his mother is, he's conscious again, and it doesn't look like any of his limbs is in temporary paralysis. He hasn't lost sensation anywhere, and he's familiar with his surroundings. So he's betting they don't need immediate medical attention.

 _Where the hell is dad?_ Dean thinks for a second, then focuses back on Sammy. He'll ring Castiel as well, but now, he needs to get Sam into the bath, before he loses him again, and he might, since Sam's eyes are becoming droopy and it looks like it's getting harder for him to stay awake. 

"Mom, listen. You're running a fever. By the feel of it, it's bad. I need to get you under the shower. I might even have to fill the bathtub with water, and grab some ice from the kitchen to cool it down more. But look, you're heavy sweetheart, so you gotta help me here." His mother doesn't respond, and Dean doesn't wait. He turns the words to action.

Dean cradles Sammy's head and neck, lifts them as tries to help him sit up. Sam does help by raising himself on his arms, the pain showing, as his jaw becomes tighter, his moans deeper and his eyes are squeezed shut. Dean waits for a few seconds until a wave of dizziness washes over Sam. When it passes, Sam confirms he's fine, then he's being hauled upwards, half of his weight, or more, resting on his son, who now has one arm clutched tightly around his thin waist, and another firmly holding one of Sam's flail arms up and across his shoulders. There's no way Sam can stand under the shower spray - his long legs are weak and wobbly; they barely make it inside the tub without Sam slipping or keeling over. 

For the second day in a row, Dean helps his mom, into the bathtub. Yesterday, it was loving and his touch was sensual, his intents sexual and lustful. Sam was naked and healthy and he was at his most beautiful, despite the crying and panic that preceded the incident. Today, it's still loving, with the way he holds Sam, and helps him sit there, but Dean's touch is protective, almost clinical, and his intents spring from his responsibility as an Alpha and his fear and concern as a loving son. Sam is fully dressed, and burning with a fever, his eyes are red and his cheeks are moist. A fever that might be half caused by a disease, and half by fatigue and stress, Dean suspects. He blames himself for the latter - he's been selfish and he knows it. But he won't stop and think now. He'll leave the thinking for later. 

When Sam, still pallid and in pain, is secure, with a small towel rolled up and placed behind his head, on the edge of the tub, to cushion it, Dean turns on the cold water tap telling Sammy to brace himself and waits as the tub begins to fill up, before running down to the kitchen and coming back up with three ice-cube trays, which he empties into the water. Adam is hanging onto the rim of the tub, watching with tear-filled eyes. Dean holds Sam's hand with one of his own, but he rubs Adam's small back with the other to comfort him, to show him he's here. His mommy, now submerged in cold water, rests for a minute, then slowly begins to shiver as the temperature clearly becomes uncomfortable. But it does look like Sam's limbs are waking up, because he's suddenly moving, faster than before, as he's muttering the word "cold" in a shaky voice, and trying to leave the tub. Surprisingly, he stands up on his own, before Dean can help, despite the shakes and quivers. 

The water sloshes, as he steps out, half supported by Dean, with Adam holding on to one of Sam's hand, under the illusion he's stepping up and helping his mommy too. Some of it splashes on the floor, and on Adam, the whole ordeal made worse as Sam's jeans and shirt soak up water and leak heavily as he moves.

Dean leaves his trembling mother's side for a few seconds to fetch the thickest, warmest towel they have and throw it around Sam. Sam welcomes it. He wraps it tighter around himself and closes it at his throat. 

"Let's get you out of these clothes mom, and into your bed, come on," he says, and he begins unwrapping the towel so he can take Sam's shirt off. Sam reluctantly cooperates, wanting to hold on to the towel some more, even though it's itself wet now. Still trembling, however, he lets go and lets Dean take his shirt off. Before Dean can take off his pants, Sam walks to the towels closet, fetches a large dry one and quickly wraps it around himself. Sure, the fever would probably be a little down by now, if only momentarily, but he's friggin' freezing, and Sam can't wait until he's out of the wet clothes and into his warm bed. 

Dean kneels and reaches for the belt holding up Sam's jeans. He undoes it, then unbuttons the pants and rolls down the zipper. Dean's teen brain - his stupid hormonal brain - is already heating up at the thought of seeing his mommy naked again, his Alpha instincts while inherently protective are beginning to gain purchase on the oppressed lust and are now responding to Sam's proximity and body heat on principle. Images of his mom naked and willing in his arms flood his inner vision all of a sudden and Dean mentally shakes them off so he can concentrate on the task at hand. _Jesus, perhaps he's a knot-head after all._

When the pants are off, Dean doesn't hesitate before he curls his fingers into the waistbands of Sam's wet white slips, already see-through and almost transparent because of the water, and peels them off. Sam's soft length comes into view, his crotch inches away from Dean's face, and it's so delicious looking. Its powerful, manly, all-Omega smell is tickling his nose. He can't help but inhale deeply to take it all in. His mom's dick is perfect. The thick shaft, the tiny piss slit, the mushroom-shaped crown so close to his lips he could kiss it right now. If Sam wasn't so ill or Adam standing right beside him, Dean would've shamelessly sucked Sam's cock down to the base, until Dean's nose is buried in the dark hair around it, breathing only Sam's scent, until he gags on it. Until it fattens and hardens inside his mouth. Until it throbs and weeps. 

 _Ok, that's it, Dean. For Pete's sake, stop it, Sammy is sick, you perv,_ Dean scolds himself inwardly. He swallows audibly and tries to breathe evenly, in an attempt to bring his horny Alpha under control. And thankfully, he manages to.

He supports his mother as they walk back to Sam's room - Adam following closely. Dean sits a naked Sam, save for the big fluffy towel, on the bed and falls to his knees in front of him. Sam's upper body is mostly covered and shielded by the towel but not his lower half. So Dean starts rubbing Sam's thighs, knees, and legs for added warmth. He tries not to think of Sam's slightly parted knees and his flaccid member in between.

 _This is about nursing Sam back to health, not hitting on him_ , Dean reminds himself again for good measure. He knows his horny Alpha is still fidgeting.

Dean kisses Sam on his lips. It's one single barely-there, reassuring kiss, then he says, "talk to me, mom. Are you feeling better? Should we call an ambulance still?"

"No, I'll be alright." He's clearly not out of the woods. But Dean believes him, he'll be OK, he knows it too.

"Promise, mom?"

Before Sam can answer, they both hear hurried steps approaching and suddenly Castiel is in the room. They were so preoccupied they didn't hear him come in the house or come up the stairs, it seems.

It looks like Castiel is taking in the scene before he comes to Sam's side. He looks disapproving of Sam's nudity, Dean feels it, as Cas's eyes run over Sam's naked thighs and legs, stopping for a second too long at where Dean is resting his hands on Sam. 

Cas comes to the bed, almost shoving Dean aside. He starts fussing. He asks Sam 101 questions about how he's feeling and what happened, and Dean is the one who answers most of them, since mom still looks and sounds disoriented, and somehow it's making Castiel more annoyed. Dean picks Adam up, and pats his back to assure him. 

As if to assert his dominance, Cas sits by Sam and takes his wife into his arms, squeezes him tightly, resting a hand on the inside of one of Sam's bare thighs. It makes Dean's cheeks heat up with jealousy. And his heart pounds a little faster. But he pushes the feelings down; he's been training himself to suppress his possessive streak for months, and his efforts pay off sometimes. Like now. 

Paradoxically, Cas is not even looking at Dean, as Dean recounts how he found Sam, and his dad doesn't grace his story with anything but a tight nod.

Dean doesn't understand. He stepped up, he was there for his mom, he subdued a screaming Adam, who's now starting to get real cranky, squirming in Dean's arms and is huffing and teering up again by the way. Adam tries to wriggle free and Dean obliges him, setting him down. The moment his feet touch the ground, Adam runs to his mommy, and hugs his torso, and Sam hugs his youngest back with one weak arm. Cas ruffles Adam's hair lovingly. 

_Great, so Castiel's attitude is exclusive to Dean? Friggin' perfect._

Why is his father acting like Dean made things worse. In fact, Castiel is glaring at Dean from time to time accusingly, and it's starting to peev the hell out of Dean.

When Castiel is satisfied that Sam is marginally better, that there would be no need for a call to the hospital or a visit to the ER, unless the paracetamol and ibuprofen double bill he'll put into Sam doesn't work to contain his fever during the next 48 hours, he finally tells his wife to get under the covers, and settle into bed. But before he takes the towel away, disrobing Sam, he asks Dean to leave the room. 

"No, I wanna be by mom's side."

"I'll be by his side. I'm here now."

"Still--"

"THAT'S ENOUGH, DEAN! NOW!" He shouts it at him, suddenly impatient and hostile, making Dean visibly flinch. Mainly because Dean didn't expect to be lashed at, especially after what he's done. It's uncalled for. His mom whispers, "Castiel," but he's bleary and tired enough not to say anything more.

Only for the sake of his mommy, Dean steps back and takes away Adam, now in full crying mode, with him. His little brother definitely needs some attention, some food and a change of diaper. He must have been equally distressed by the sight of his unconscious mom, earlier, and of course the scare of being left alone before Dean found him. Well, he will fix Adam then.

He'll also heat some soup and pass it on to Cas so he can feed it to his mom. Sammy shouldn't be medicated on an empty stomach. Dean takes in a deep breath and blows out hard. _Fine, he'll be on the sidelines for now_ , he resolves. 

...

Two hours later, when Adam is in a better shape, and Dean's got his own half-frayed nerves and boiling anger (at his father) under control, he decides to check on his parents. The door to their bedroom is shut. He knocks and when he gets the permission to go in, he does and sees that Sam is sleeping in Castiel's arms.

"What do you want, Dean?"

"Just wanna remind you to wake mommy up every couple of hours in case he sustained a concussion when he fell and hit the floor."

Cas nods saying he will. He still doesn't look happy Dean is interfering, it seems. It's his mom, what does he expect? Sammy is his entire world actually. 

When he just stands there, with his eyes trained on his mother, Castiel's asks, "anything else?"

He meets his father's eyes. "Adam's hungry, I don't know what to do."

"Fix him something. You're a big boy," Cas says, his gaze firm and level.

"No, dad. I'm not going to give him cereals again for dinner. He just had some an hour ago. It's getting late. And a PB&J sandwich is out of the question. That's too much sugar for one night. He needs a hot meal. Mom would kill us if he finds out we're neglecting Adam like this. I can watch over mom as you whip up something." He adds: "You know how hopeless I am in the kitchen."

Castiel doesn't move.

"Dad," Dean swallows his pride and pleads, hoping to look innocent and convincing, and in more ways than one, he _is_ honest. Sure, part of him just wants to be alone with his mom for a while. But really, he doesn't want Adam to get another mediocre meal or to suffer because Cas is being stubborn. 

Cas seems to get it, huffs a sigh and takes himself down to the kitchen to heat up some food for Adam, give his son a proper meal. 

Dean immediately takes his mom's side in lieu of Cas. His mom opens his eyes, when the bed shifts and Dean lands beside him. "You gave me quite a scare back there, Sammy," he says. "Don't you ever do this to me again."

Sam nods. "I'm sorry, De," he says weakly. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"I know, sweetheart. I just don't want to ever see you hurt." 

Dean huddles against Sammy's warm body, and starts soothing him, carding his fingers through his hair. They spend a few minutes like this. Then Dean swoops down on him, and kisses his mouth. Sam is motionless for a few seconds, just letting his mouth be used. _Perhaps it's exhaustion or maybe he's holding back on purpose_ , Dean doesn't know.

Insistent, Dean follows one kiss with another. His kisses are loving and urgent and as he kisses, he crowds against Sam more, until he's almost blanketing him. 

When Dean starts on Sam's soft, pliable lips, he usually can't stop. Now is no different.

Between kisses, Sam whispers, "we shouldn't" to which Dean responds by putting his own slightly parted lips to better use. They capture Sam's in a deep kiss. 

And Dean puts all his ache and fears and passion into the heat and pressure of his mouth. He breathes in the kiss a promise of an undying love. When he slightly pulls back, he keeps Sam's lower lip tucked between his own teeth and lips, and sucks on it, as he likes to do sometimes. When he finally releases Sam's mouth, he seals the make out session with three consecutive quick pecks, then pushes himself up from the bed.

He doesn't leave immediately though. Sensually, Dean lowers the covers, baring Sam's naked body, bunching the covers to below his waist, right where his torso meets his legs. He inspects Sam's nakedness with hungry eyes, not ashamed to look and stare. Dean bends forward, lays his wet and swollen lips on Sam's fleshy stomach, right below his navel. For a second, it looks like it's all he'll do, just lay his lips there, or brush them against the skin. But he pops a single chaste kiss on the sweat-damp skin. Then he starts kissing the spot forcefully, just like he was kissing Sam's mouth a minute earlier. Dean's tongue flicks out to taste too. Then he bites, hard, with teeth.

The moment the stinging pain hits, the blood rushes to the assaulted spot and Sam realises what Dean is doing. He doesn't have a choice but to let him. When he's done staking his claim, Dean licks then kisses the bruise.

Without looking, Sam is sure it's red, soon to turn purplish. He knows it will stand out if Cas sees him in the nude tonight.

"I'll go check on Adam," Dean declares. "And see if dad is heating you some food too. You need to eat, mom." He says, so casually, like he wasn't just devouring Sam's mouth with his own, like he didn't just give his mom a hickey.

Sam nods. Then ... "Before you go. Throw me a shirt, sweetheart," Sam says.

And Dean smiles like he likes the idea that now Sam will have to cover in front of Cas. That Sam's naked skin is not for his father's eyes anymore. Not tonight at least.

Perhaps next time, Dean will plant this claiming kiss a little lower.

He helps his mom put on a shirt, and underwear (Dean's initiative! He might as well since he wants Sam properly covered up from his dad's greedy eyes and prying hands. Besides, he loves the idea of helping Sam into his briefs, he gets off on it too. He actually couldn't help placing a quick, light kiss on Sam's cock before he pulled the briefs up).

Done, Dean pads out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

When he's alone, Sam touches a finger to his lower lip, where his son's insistent mouth was moments before, where his tongue licked and sucked, and Sam's own tongue flicks out to lick the lingering taste of Dean off his own mouth. The bruise below his belly button is throbbing, sending a tingle down Sam's own groin, where Dean kissed, his lips moist and gentle, threatening to spur a hard-on despite Sam's extreme fatigue. Dean knows exactly what he needs. He knows what to say. What to whisper in his ears. Where to touch him.

For a moment, Sam imagines what it would feel like if Dean had been his husband. If it were Dean, young as he is, who gets to mate Sam. If it were his son who kisses him every morning and every night, who makes future plans with him, who spoons him at night, if it were Dean who makes love to him during his heat and gives him babies.

Every taste of Dean awakens some thing old inside Sam that he had once thought he lost forever - feelings that were once associated with youth, ideals, discovery, fresh dreams and beautiful uncertainty, the vanguard of a new life, young love and the promise of adventure, and had died (or so it seems) with these abstract things, as dreams ground to a halt and life became monotonous.

Dean's own youth breathes life into Sam's middle age, and his passion makes Sam alive again.

His love for him surprises him, and warms and breaks his heart in endless cycles; but it makes life worth living. Sam knows that he can never get enough of this.

He also knows it's a sin.

Even if it feels so right, it shouldn't be. _And it's so, so unfair_ , Sam reflects. He knows that he'll continue to crave this. And he knows that he can't let go.

But that incidentally, he must.

Sam closes his eyes. And waits for the painkillers and the sum of his fatigue, weariness and depression to pull him back to sleep. 

Tomorrow. He'll have his talk with Dean tomorrow. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for answering some of my questions during the intermission. I'm honored by the degree of attention you're giving this story. I'm copying one of the responses I gave to a reader, "Although I said that I have decided the path already - and I have - all of your comments are helping me decide how I want to flesh out the plot that I have already drawn out. By answering these questions, each of you is helping me realize a dimension of the problem our characters are facing. By hearing what you guys think, all the different perspectives on this, I'm getting a better idea of how I should justify some decisions that I make as a writer and in turn that the characters make within the drama and through situations and actions and words of said characters.
> 
> Thank you so much for engaging with me in this exercise. Despite the fact that the roadmap is already laid, this is not futile, it's actually helping me tweak some details so in the end whatever happens, it comes out with the feel that this is the natural outcome of things, that it had to come to that. Because the last thing I want is for the progression to feel forced or for the story to reach a halt as Sam and Dean continue to circle around each other, pushing and pulling, going forward then hesitating. In order to infuse drama into a situation and make it heat up, I guess we gotta take some risks and raise the stakes." 
> 
> So bear with me! This should be good ;-)
> 
> As always, your comments make my heart flutter. Also, critique is most welcome, but be gentle please :-) xoxoxo
> 
> P.S. I updated the publication date by a day since those of you who read the story during the first few hours after it was published probably read an old version of this chapter. I added several paragraphs to it *after* it was already published and I want to give you all a chance to read it in its (near) final form. And I say "near final" because I always go back and correct things or add lines. For instance, I just made corrections to chapter 1 so that some things read better, so if you read it now, it's slightly different in some parts (nothing big, but it has some extra lines and typos are corrected).


	16. Kiss and break-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes a hard choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short chapter to show you that this is not dead. I'm writing again, and this fic will be updated regularly again. Hope you haven't lost interest at this point, because there's a lot more to come following this emotional gridlock. This story is far from over.

 

"Absolutely not," Sam had barked in response when Castiel merely floated the idea of making Dean take some time away from the house, from them. Cas had tried to reason that it was mainly for Dean, "He's grown too dependent on you, he's almost 16 now. He should learn how to be alone, Sam. Your son is a man now," he'd said, but Sam was adamant that Dean stayed close. Cas hadn't even had a chance to make his case or begin to suggest where Dean should actually move to; the very idea of Dean spending any time away from them (whether in a summer camp for a few months or in boarding school) was immediately shot down by Sam. It was like he was expecting it.

Cas is furious about Sam's dead-fast opposition but he's also still worried about Sam's wellbeing ever since he collapsed, so he lets the conversation drop—for now.

Seeing Sam standing there in their kitchen, pale, scrubbing the dishes furiously like they've personally wronged him, with Adam sitting on the floor at his feet and clutching a stuffed, plush alligator while oblivious to their worries, is a sore reminder of how much responsibility and chores Sam is shouldering, physically and emotionally—usually without complaint.

Sam has been busting his back taking care of all of them and is now hanging by a thread. So yeah, Cas backs down.

Inwardly, he knows this is not over.

In fact, the first thing Cas does when he turns his back to Sam is dig his phone out of his pocket and get out of earshot. He walks out of the house, stands on their front yard and keys in his mother's number. He's well aware he’s acting based on a nagging feeling that he can't even begin to explain, but it’s a safety net, that is, if ever ...

He stands there, holds the phone to his ear and outright lies to his mother. He tells Deanna that he talked to Sam and that they're both strongly considering the idea of having Dean move to his grandparents. He has the audacity to tell her that Sam’s of the same mind. It's not like she'll double check his story with Sam; his wife and Deanna rarely ever talk. This family has a complicated history, and though Cas has forgiven and forgotten, mostly, it’s clear Sam still holds some grudges towards Castiel's parents.

Deanna senses her son's tension. Cas tries to keep his tone casual and light, but it's not above his mother to see through this and into the myriad of emotions that Castiel feels he's carrying right now. Deanna doesn't promise anything except talking to Henry, Castiel's dad, who's now enjoying a short break from work in their waterfront mansion in a different state. But she’ll talk to him alright.

Sure, Castiel is half dreading the whole thing for obvious reasons, including the judgement of his lifestyle this upcoming talk with Henry might entail. His father will probably bring up the past, Castiel's rebellion, and his subsequent choices. He'd rather let sleeping dogs lie. Still, Cas is unsettled and feeling—threatened? Sam and Dean's co-dependence rubs him the wrong way. He can't even put a finger on why. It's primal.

Sam has also been drifting away from him. Even their moments of silence have turned from companionable to frosty.

Sometimes Cas feels like shaking Sam, confronting his wife with his thoughts and suspicions. _What undid us, Sam?_ he'd ask. _What happened to our great love? We used to ride the wind and promise each other our hearts._ He barely recognises them these days. They were once Romeo and Juliet and now their love is snoring away somewhere; it feels distant and surreal—like a memory. What is it that’s led them to this rut after they worked so hard to craft the perfect union? They had so many fitful starts and setbacks at the beginning of their marriage and they navigated through them all. Life had thrown many curveballs at them and they took pride in enduring. “We’ll get through this, Cas, like we always do,” Sam would promise. Have they become complacent?

Or was it Castiel's high-pressure job, the many nights he spent away from home that caused Sam to grow cold? Should he blame himself? He wonders. Is Castiel the reason Sam turned from one half of a madly-in-love couple to a wife who cries his way through sex? Is something irretrievably broken here? Castiel shuts his eyes and swallows the lump in his throat.

Dean. It’s all about Dean, and Sam, and family. The move—if it happens—doesn't even have to happen any time soon, Castiel reasons; Dean still has a school year to finish and they can always wait until the Lupercalia, Dean's coming-of-age and the designated rite-of-passage ceremony, he tells Deanna.

The moment Castiel hangs up the phone with his mother, he instantly regrets it. He regrets lying to Deanna, who probably already figured out something wasn't right, but more importantly, lying to Sam—or rather, keeping this away from him.

 _You're the alpha, it's your right to make decisions for them_ , a voice whispers in his head, a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. His abdication of some alpha traditions and responsibilities shouldn't mean he's not allowed to put his foot down from time to time (even if it means trampling on Sam's feelings occasionally). Maybe it's not wrong to succumb to his basic instinct when it comes to this.

 _Or maybe_ , he thinks darkly, _he's screwing his relationship with both Sam and Dean for nothing_. Castiel sighs audibly.

"What's done is done," he whispers to no one in particular, pockets his cell phone then walks back into the house.

...

From the kitchen window above the sink, where he stands washing the dishes, Sam watches Castiel walk out their front door and flip open his phone. After he hangs up, there's a moment of stillness where his husband just stares into nothingness, as if seeing what no one else sees. His shoulders are tense, and Sam feels a pang of guilt for the umpteenth time today for hurting the man he is supposed to love the most. Cas is nothing but good, Sam thinks, his heart twisting in his chest. Cas is his life partner. His commitment to their marriage has never dulled. He's the same man who once rescued Sam from his personal demons; who'd refused to hew to tradition and loved him for who he was and is, unconditionally. He's Dean's and Adam's father. The apples of Sam's eyes are part Sam, part Castiel.

Sam continues to watch his husband, feeling like a voyeur or that maybe he's witnessing something he shouldn't. He feels even smaller as he sees Castiel dragging his feet back into their house.

Perhaps Sam’s a bad husband and parent, but he's not just that: he feels he's broken, too. He sees clearly what his failure to control himself has lead to. Maybe Sam knew all along that it would come down to this _thing_ with Dean and he let it. In retrospect, Dean and him were silently circling around each other for months, maybe years. And it wasn't just Dean who was breaching boundaries. Sam still remembers the first time his own arousal stirred at the touch of his son. He pushed it down to a level of consciousness that he thought was deep enough. He pushed and pushed, denied and justified, did all the mental gymnastics needed to make his and Dean's growing affections sound okay until the sickening final turn: his son desired him, and Sam desired him back.

He's twisted his own son out of shape in search of ... love? Well, he had love with Cas. So what had changed?

Everything, it seems.

The coup de grace? He not only cheated on Cas with his own _son,_ but he couldn't even pluck up enough courage to do the right thing and separate Dean from the household temporarily. In fact, he emphatically fought for Dean to stay.

This retrograde step—despite earlier promises to himself that he’d be stronger about this—is typical of Sam. He does plan to limit his affections, and he’s already been rebutting fresh attempts from Dean following their last make-out session in Sam's own martial bed, but he hasn't ended it definitively. And he should.

It hurts, but he's aware he's figuratively footing the bill for his choices, for his growing emotional and erotic codependency on his oldest son.

He hears Cas walking up the stairs to the second floor of their house. A moment later, Dean walks in through the front door, back from his training and ready for dinner.

"Hey mom, hey pipsqueak," Dean says, looking fresh after his training.

"Hey, Dean," says Sam, his voice tight. "How did your day go?"

"OK, I guess," he says as he moves behind Sam, circling his arms around him, his palms resting on Sam's belly, his chin on Sam's right shoulder. He starts peppering small kisses along his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world (like Sam is his wife waiting for him to get home, Sam thinks with a small shudder). Dean doesn't stop; he starts kissing the side of Sam's neck. He's bold, kissing Sam so suggestively with Castiel under the same roof.

Dean's lips are damp for some reason, soft, and his kisses leave Sam's skin tingling in their wake. Dean removes a hand from around Sam's waist, wraps it around the nape of his neck and turns Sam's face gently toward him. Before Sam can protest, his son locks their lips together.

His lips are closed, but Dean's are glued to them, sealed as they are. The passion is paralysing.

Almost.

Because, against every fibre in his being, Sam twists and pushes Dean back. "No, Dean," he says. Dean, his lips still moist and a little swollen from the hard kiss, asks quizzically "what? what's wrong?"

For God's sake, thinks Sam. "This, Dean," Sam says, getting worked up but not wanting to turn this into a fight, least of all when Castiel is in the house, and Adam is sitting there right at their feet. He gestures between them, "This can't go on."

Dean just stares back, slack-jawed. His eyes are crestfallen. Sam feels horrible for putting this confused and lost look on his son's face. He feels like throwing up, but holds the bile in and soldiers on, "Dean, I know it's all on me. Baby, I'm the one who let this happen in the first place."

"Mom, what are you doing? Don't do this," Dean says, running his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. Adam chooses this moment to speak, "Are you mad, mommy?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm alright. Just discussing something with your big brother."

"OK," Adam says. But he's only silent for a second. He mumbles something about being bored, looking up so innocently at DeeDee as he calls him sometimes, and asks if he wants to play together.

"Come here buddy, I'll put something on," says Dean. He’s a little disoriented, his mind still rummaging for an explanation of his mom’s recoil. He carries Adam out of the kitchen.

Sam takes this moment of reprieve to lean back against the kitchen counter—bracing himself with his arms—and breathe. _This is it, Sam, this is the moment where you should be strong. Don't back out. You can do it._

Sam can hear the sound of the TV as it's turned on in the living room. It looks like Dean has decided to sit for a few minutes with his little brother until he's absorbed in the cartoon on screen. Then Dean walks back into the kitchen. He watches Sam. He's chagrined at the rejection. Frankly, he expected some reluctance but not this.

His mom's eyes are still closed, and it looks like he's trying to get his breath under control. Dean can't resist. He walks towards Sam, grabs his belt loops and yanks his pelvis toward him. Sam reluctantly comes along, but as Dean tries to wrap his arms around his mom, Sam resists again. Dean holds on strong though, one arm clutching Sammy's waist, another holding his arm in a death grip so he won't twist away. He looks at Sam, trying to make their eyes meet. When they finally do—

"Mom, come on, we love each other," he pleads.

"Yes, we do, sweetheart," Sam says, and for a second he sounds like the old version of himself, the one who wouldn't deny Dean anything. "But not like this," Sam says, shoving him back, without losing eye contact, and this time with force.

Dean stumbles back, hurt and humiliated. What on Earth is going on? This resignation he's seeing in his mother's eyes is something new and it shakes up his core. He doesn't know what to make of it.

Dean's world has just imploded and come raining down on him.

"Mom, you want this too," he implores. He's not above begging. Not when Sammy is slipping from between his fingers.

"No, I don't. Not anymore. Never again."

"Sammy--"

"It's mom."

Dean is visibly shocked, dejected, but besides shock, Sam can now almost literally see the agony and fury rising up in his son.

"Mom, I'm warning you. You can't ... you just– can't," Dean says darkly. His breaths are coming faster and he looks like he wants to punch something (or someone), and Sam is suddenly afraid this might turn physical. The last time he and his son had a showdown this intense, his son ended up in the ER with a broken fist and Sam ended up feeling like the vilest person on Earth.

"Dean, look, don't make this harder than it already is. Whatever you thought we had, son, it's over. We're over."

"Wh-Wait, what does this even mean?" Dean glowers at him.

"Dean, I'll never stop loving you. But whatever boundaries we stepped over to get to this, to get to the point where we ..." Sam trails off, leaving this hanging between them for a few seconds too long. He doesn't want to say it but he must.

Sam speaks the next words with trepidation, like he's announcing a verdict (and it is the death sentence to what's between them). "Where we are now, Dean. It's not love. It's incest ... and it's wrong." He says it while staring Dean in the eyes.

"Wow," Dean says, jeering. Tears well up in his eyes against his will. "Calling our love something so dirty. Never thought--"

"Well, you thought wrong, De. You're old enough—we're both old enough to know right from wrong. I'm your mother, I'm married, to your dad, and I love my husb—"

"Stop! Stop ... just stop talking," Dean says, stepping back, and his knees are about to give out. He waves up a hand at his mother; he doesn't want to hear the rest of that sentence.

The finality of it is sinking in, it seems, and Sam is at once satisfied his point is hitting home and breaking into little pieces inside.

It's inevitable, this hurt, Sam thinks, to save his family.

"Dean," Sam says, his voice even. Sam is refusing to let the sight of his son so stricken, and in tears, faze him. He's being strong for both of them, for Castiel, for this family to work, he tells himself. _This is the price you gotta pay, Sam. It's to see_ _your great love crashing and burning_ , he thinks.

Again, he feels like emptying the contents of his stomach on the kitchen floor. He doesn't want to be standing here saying any of this. He doesn't want to tell Dean they're done. He wants to tell his oldest son that he's his oxygen, that he wants his touch everywhere, that at night he dreams that he's naked in his arms, that they're in an alternative reality where they're happily married and Sam is pregnant with Dean's child. He wants to throw himself at him and hold him, and kiss him until he can't breathe. He wants to tell him that he's terrified for his sanity. He wants to tell Dean that Cas won't have it; that he wants to send him away.

He also wants to tell his son that he's young, too painfully young and that he's disillusioned, and that Sam is old, broken, and that Dean is way, way, better than him. Dean is perfect. And he has a long, full life ahead of him, and he shouldn't be wasting his thoughts on Sam.

But he doesn't say any of it. He just stands there as his son shuts down and backs off from him.

"This is really happening, isn't it?" Dean whispers and it feels like he's talking to someone else. To himself. To the universe, perhaps. Sam nods.

"Maybe I'll take Rhonda back," Dean says. He's sure he goes for defiant but combined with his tears, it feels juvenile. But it's, well, a last ditch effort to try and stir something inside of Sammy, who he barely recognises at the moment. He watches his mom. Sammy's shoulders are squared, his eyes vacant and he's radiating a cruel brand of dogged determination so alien to their relationship it's painful to observe.

"Maybe you should," Sam responds softly, keeping his face hard and unreadable. Dean nods—tears streaming—and walks out of the kitchen and away from Sam.

That's it. It's done, Sam thinks when Dean is out of his sight, and the tears come unbidden.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a long one. Already outlined and half-written! Don't go away xox
> 
> Find me on tumblr, the handle is joannaleeuniverse.
> 
> (I sure do hope the majority of you haven't given up on this fic. I certainly haven't. Keep the comments coming, always ecstatic to hear from you)
> 
> (Updated the date cos I corrected some typos and added a few lines to the newest chapter. Also it would be great if someone can volunteer to beta read the fic, thanks!)


	17. It's complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There ain't no easy answers for Sam and Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I wanna say that I really, really LOVE the readers of this fic. Thank you so much for being loyal, supportive and AMAZING in every way!
> 
> I was really planning on giving you a much longer chapter, it was all outlined, but for that happen, I had to make you wait. And God knows, some of you have been waiting long enough for updates. So I decided in the end to break it down into three parts. This is the first. Hope you enjoy!

It turns out that "breaking up" with Dean was the easy part; the hard part is living with this decision, especially with him and Dean living in such close quarters. As expected, Dean spends the first few days after their talk (Sam calls it "talk" for lack of a better term to describe the disastrous exchange that ended in heartbreak and tears) either glaring daggers at Sam or pretending not to care less about him. And he spends less time in the house now. Sam assumes he's socialising more with his school friends, or maybe he’s made good on his threat and gone back to this Rhonda girl.

Of course the silent treatment Sam is enduring is also interspersed by incidences of A-class Dean-Winchester-style rudeness, specifically when the family is gathered round for dinner or spending some quality time around TV in the living room. Eye rolling, answering back in a derisive tone, facing away when Sam addresses him. The whole nine, though Sam _does_ feel genuinely sorry for how the boy automatically becomes rigid when Sam talks to him. Cas, oblivious to the recent escalation and the fact that his wife and son were teetering on the precipice of an incestuous relationship, doesn't understand where this is coming from and eventually chalks up Dean's moodiness to teen hormones. This doesn't stop Castiel from having words with Dean or warning him that he's a breath away from being grounded or losing privileges like later curfews, generous allowances or getting behind the wheel during time spent at Bobby's.

It's a tiring ordeal, and Sam wants no part in it, but it's part of the aftermath, and he's got no choice but to lay low or bend with the wind.

Several times, Cas would send Dean back to his room, or demand to talk to him privately, cutting into family time. Sam remains quiet all through, doesn't reprimand his son or even meet his eyes. Castiel usually steals glances at Sam to gauge his reaction, and Sam is sure Cas is surprised that his wife remains on the fence every time it happens, instead of jumping to Dean's defence as per usual.

Dean, more often than not, reacts to his dad like he's being personally challenged and has to prove that he can remain unfazed in the face of his wrath. Sometimes he becomes scornful, which riles up Cas even more, other times, Dean doesn't bat so much an eye at his father, though Sam knows too well that his son hates having his freedoms restrained—if only because it's a reminder that someone else is steering his life. It's all exasperated by Dean's untamed, premature, dominant alpha nature, coming to the surface too often now.

Sam fears that soon this nature may come unhinged, especially as his father becomes more frustrated and more intent on disciplining Dean.

Surprisingly, it's Sam who's not balking at all this, or at least he's taking it better than he thought he would.

Some days, of course, are harder than others.

On some afternoons, when he's stretched out on their fold-out couch breastfeeding Adam, who still nurses out of comfort sometimes, Sam remembers fondly how Dean used to lie next to him, head on his chest, licking and sucking at a breast, his fingers pinching Sam's nips or tracing imaginary shapes on his exposed skin. Just thinking about the heat of Dean's mouth and the pull of his soft lips, the steady swipes of his tongue, usually makes Sam chub up in his pants.

The memories bring with them a whiff of the raw alpha scent that is all Dean and which usually reduces Sam to a sweaty, squirming mess, melting from the inside out.

Months back, Sam would feel guilty about getting off on the thought of breastfeeding Dean, but now that's he's emotionally estranged from his eldest, he feels he's at least allowed to indulge. The memories of these sweet moments and the sensations they induce in him ... they’re all he has now.

Still, despite the inner turmoil, the moment Sam decided to put the mental and emotional welfare of Dean and his family first, there was no turning back. It was like a switch was hit inside of him, and his mental state shifted. It's almost like Sam and Dean had to slide into depravity for Sam to wake up, step back and realise something has gone horribly wrong.

And now, very simply, he's up against the wall. When it was just intimacy, tender touches and sweet kisses (even as it sometimes edged on heavy petting), Sam could have at least continued to warp the situation in his head and tell himself it was all platonic; an unconventional expression of deep love and affection between his son and him, something that no one had a right to judge. But once it was all out in the open and he realised it was sexual and primal and bone deep, and that he doesn’t just love Dean, but is "in love" with him, there was no running away from the bite of this truth. When did it all happen? How? At which point in time did he stop being crazy about Cas and, instead, became crazy about Dean? Sam has no idea. He's drawing blanks here, blank cartridges.

Now that Sam is at least conscious of how deep his feelings run, how they upended his mind and how potentially destructive they are, he's painfully aware that these feelings could corrupt his family, that they have power to rattle the very foundations of this household and everything he and Castiel spent years building. There’s no real choice but to stop and save Dean from the consequences. So yes, he is finding the strength and it's pleasantly surprising in an odd way.

In his dreams, at night, it's another affair.

In unseen corners of his mind, he's Dean's, every bit of him belongs to Dean and there's no changing that. In those nightly fantasies, Sam is the perfect omega to Dean's alpha, bending to his will and slaving away to please. In sleep, Dean is his dominant; taking him any way he wants and Sam the pretty obedient wife who has no shame and doesn't hold back. He dreams. Then wakes up aroused and aching, on the edge of orgasm, pining for his son, the memories of their physical intimacy vivid and palpable and Sam nearly trembles with need.

On some nights, he'd even rub himself against Cas, hump Castiel's leg like a dog as he sleeps; Sam would close his eyes, pretend it was Dean and soon after he would come in his shorts. On other nights, he'd stay up, shrouded in darkness, eyelids peeled back as he imagined depraved scenarios and wondered about things he didn’t dare put in words: how would their non-existent first time be like? Would Dean want him face down on his belly or on his back where he could see his face? Would he be gentle, sensual, romantic; would he take his time to open him up and prep him for the invasion, whisper sweet nothings into his ears? Or would Dean talk dirty? Kiss him rough until his lips bruise, call him a whore and fuck him to within an inch of his life? If Dean were his mate, would Sam walk around the house like he does now in men's clothing, or would Dean force him to be in drag, even in public? Would he make him wear lacy bras and panties? Like the omegas Sam thought he'd never want to be, like he's owned? In the past Sam would cringe at the possibility, call this lifestyle 'backward', and this alpha-omega behaviour 'oppressive' and 'genderist' - Sam being what traditionalists would stereotypically call 'omegaphobic' or 'self-hating omega' (terms that Sam hates). But with Dean in the picture, being the boss of him in all these fantastical scenarios, Sam would shudder, in a good way, his dick would stir and harden and his hole would twitch ... sometimes leak at the wrongness of it.

On bad nights, he'd shift in bed as his restless mind took these scenarios and applied them to faceless strangers (the girls that Dean fucked) and to one face Sam remembers all too well: Rhonda. During these nights, Sam would grit his teeth until his jaw locked and pained him, and he'd end up losing sleep.

All these forbidden images, the arousal and the agony are hidden away within his heart and mind, shielded from view in the higher plains of dreams and thought, obscured by the dead of night and buried in secrecy.

In the light of day, he'd blank it all out ... forget. Keep on keeping on.

But that's something, and the reality of trying to navigate their daily lives like nothing happened is something else.

Dealing with Sam, Dean wavers between being hot and cold, angry and dismissive, but these are strong emotions whose wells are finite and will eventually dry up.

Dean might get used to the new situation after all, Sam tells himself (although he prays day and night that it doesn't happen at the expense of their love for each other. He prays, almost obsessively, that Dean will recover from their brief stint as lovers without hardening. He hopes against hope that somehow he may find it in his heart to forgive Sam, _his Sammy_ ).

But from his side, Sam doesn't know how to be with his son anymore - he's always fearful that his affections, if he let them show, might be misread as renewed interest or as a desire to rekindle the romance that was nipped in the bud. His casualness might be misinterpreted as lack of caring. And opting for avoidance is just adding fuel to the fire, and may hurt Dean and cost them dearly on the long run.

In a first, Sam doesn't know how to be a mother to his oldest son.

When Sam reflects on it sometimes, he finds that he's at a loss of what really drove a wedge between them, what led to where they are now. Which should he blame for the current predicament: their erotic feelings for each other or Sam's decision to suppress them? Their love or the fact that they openly acknowledged it? Their pedigree or their fate?

If they hadn't put a name to their feelings, if they hadn't acted on them so passionately, if they had pretended that whatever they were feeling was just a deep unabiding love, a profound bond, would they have been better off?

...

A few brochures fall on the kitchen table right in front of Sam, assaulting his field of vision. Cas takes a chair at the table where Sam is already seated and waits for a reaction.

Sam looks, and they're brochures for schools—boarding schools, that is.

Sam's head shoots up, his blood pressure quickly rising, "What the hell is this, Cas?"

"You know what, Sam."

Sam balks, not believing that they're still discussing this.

"Well, the answer's still no."

"Sammy—"

"Don't Sammy me, I thought we settled this."

Castiel gives him a labored look like Sam is the one who's being obstinate and tiresome. It irks Sam. He huffs in anger.

"Just hear me out," he begins. Castiel is choosing his next words meticulously in an effort not to offend Sam's delicate sensibilities or feelings for their son. "I think, given Dean's attitude and his penchant for rebellion, we should see this as an option."

Sam is visibly taken aback. Castiel isn’t skirting around the issue any longer. Sam knows all too well what Castiel is referring to when he says 'attitude' and 'rebellion'; he doesn't just mean the regular pain-in-the-ass teenage attitude and rebellion, he means Dean's "different" nature, specifically his growing aggressive alpha tendencies.

Cas speaks again, softly, like he's not sticking a dagger in Sam's heart and twisting, "It might be problematic as he grows older, considering, you know, our unconventional lifestyle."

Sam looks down at the brochures again and hesitantly leafs through them. James Exeter School. Trinity School for Boys. Black Hills Academy. Stonewall Abbey. St. Apollo School. Castiel and his brothers attended the last one. Sam's heart burns in his chest. The schools in the pictures resemble castles and cathedrals with their high walls, lakes, surrounding parks, all in the suburbs apparently, and they bear all the hallmarks of traditional schools—and for the life of him, Sam can't imagine Dean being locked away from him behind those cold walls for most of the year. Not in any of those golden cages.

Sam takes in a deep breath, or _tries,_  because right now, his lungs are refusing to fill up completely. He also tries to will away the disturbing images these schools stir up in his mind. It's not easy. He suddenly remembers Mary, his sister, and Sam's stomach turns and he gets the urge to throw the leaflets right at his husband's face. His muscles physically ache with the strain of keeping his hands to himself and his impulses well under control. Finally, he pushes the brochures away, across the table, toward Castiel.

Castiel continues talking, gently, like Sam didn't just confirm his rejection of the idea with this small but definitive gesture.

"If this was my father's house, if I were my father," Cas says, almost apologetically. "No alpha would be out of line, no matter how old. But we're different, Sam. And we raised our children to speak up, and have a say, and I'm not saying it's wrong, darling, but I can see it becoming a problem. Dean is ..." Cas stops, looking for the right word, "feral," he finally says, eliciting a bitchface from Sam that so far is probably his best, and Cas has known Sam since they were teens, so that's saying something.

Sam keeps his mouth zipped, so Cas soldiers on: "Look, you and me, we consciously chose this. You of all people know it took me a whole lot of effort and then some to become who I am today, to break ranks. And we paid."

When he's met with more silence, Cas adds, "I don't want to twist Dean out of shape or force him to be like us just because it’s how we live. I want him to have the freedom to explore other options, away from any parental influence. Not yours. Not mine."

"If you were like your father," Sam finally speaks, voice soft but tight, eyes clouding over. "We wouldn't be married, Cas. There wouldn't be any 'you and me'."

"I know—"

Sam cuts in, "Besides, you don't know if Dean is different as you say he is."

Sam knows it's a lie, but holds his ground.

"Darling, I do know," says Cas, patiently but firmly. "Trust my instincts on this, Sam ... please. He's my son too, and I understand this about his nature on a level that I don't even know how to articulate. I know it in my guts ... It's an alpha to alpha thing. And before you say anything, I don't mean to shut you out. But Sam ... There are things—there are urges, feelings beyond our control. ... Look, he reminds me of my brothers, at his age. Sam, our eldest is a traditional alpha through and through. If you don't get it already, then you're burying your head in the sand, and you need to stop."

"I'm not—" Sam begins, but his husband speaks over him again, and his words now carry a certain intensity that Sam, instinctively, submits to.

"Sam, if I were my father, I wouldn't think twice about breaking my own son to keep him in line. Wherever that line is drawn," Castiel says, and it's bitter and it carries a hint of that anger Castiel took years upon years to release and let go of. Sam, in a first during this conversation, feels genuinely sorry for Cas imagining what it was like for his husband to grow up in such a harsh environment. Not that Sam had it any better, but still.

"And Dean? He tempts me. Sometimes I feel that he's asking for it. But we're not like that," Cas carries on. "And 'cause we're not, we have to open our eyes. Sammy, darling, this, what we have, it's probably suffocating Dean. And we need to let him breathe ... or on my life, we'll regret it later."

"Ok, Cas, let's pump the brakes a little bit," Sam says holding a hand up. "It's almost like you approve. If he's turning into something that we—"

"There's nothing to approve or disapprove of here, Sam. This is what I'm trying to say," Castiel says, his voice rising now. Sam's denial is eating away at his patience. "And that's what you need to get through this head of yours," he finally snaps, making Sam flinch, then swiftly collects himself.

He huffs a breath. "It is what it is."

"Cas, we don't have to accept," Sam says, desperation bleeding into his voice.

"Darling, we don't have a choice."

Cas continues: "Now, the schools I've got here," he points to the brochures. "They're the best. Traditional. But not radical. They know how to coach alphas, nurture the wolf inside without letting it take over. We'll have to ask my parents to put in a good word for us, pull some strings. And I gotta break the bank to get him in. Maybe I'll even have to rob one at some point," Cas jokes, in an attempt to dampen the mood. It doesn't work at all, so he goes back to being gravely serious and adds reassuringly, "But hopefully with my promotion coming up, we can make it work. It'll be hard but it'll be worth it, I swear."

"Cas—"

"Sam, look, we don't have to make a decision now. There are other options too," he says, standing up and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Sam's mouth. He's inwardly alluding to his other plan of sending Dean to his father's house, which frankly Cas is leaning towards. Castiel has had his share of troubles and disagreements with his family, but sending Dean to them? It's a familiar option. At least he knows his family's ways well and he can step in if things go too far. There's his mom and Naomi to ease the brunt of the big change in Dean's lifestyle, and he'll find solace in the fact that Dean will still be surrounded by people who love him deeply. His son won't feel abandoned or rejected.

Certainly he'd still transfer Dean to one of those ridiculously expensive traditional schools, but Dean wouldn't have to board there and be raised by complete strangers.

But of course, he's not ready to reveal this to his clearly distraught wife. Not right now, especially with all the politics between his family and Sam. So Castiel doesn't elaborate on those 'other options' and Sam doesn't ask. He's probably too absorbed in the possibilities, Cas thinks.

He gets it. And he doesn't want to throw everything at Sam all at once. He'll be overwhelmed and his darling wife will lash back. So Castiel schools his patience and waits for Sam to wrap his head around all this. Castiel hopes they'll be able to come to terms on this. The alternative is too painful to think about.

...

Sam is in the shower when he feels it again: _the burning need,_  scorching and deep in his belly. He's been feeling hot and bothered for the past few days, and he thinks he may be nearing his heat. It would be really off schedule if this is true, but he's been stressing recently, and he's certain it has to have some effect on hormones. And right now, he's feeling it hard.

His right hand moves south, and he kneads at his own balls a little too harshly in an attempt to stave off the warmth pooling in his nether region and giving him light spasms. He combs his other hand through his soaked hair, half in frustration at the thoughts that keep creeping into his brain at the moment; thoughts of Dean and only Dean.

In a first, he makes a real effort to actually divert his thoughts to Cas instead of settling in for either indulging in forbidden, incestuous fantasies or blocking images of Dean altogether.

Perhaps if he conditions his mind to turn to Castiel instead of his son every time he feels horny, his mind will eventually go there on its own without making a long rest stop at Dean's, he thinks. A couple of years back, he'd cum like a freight train just fantasising about his husband's junk or their sensual lovemaking. Now, it's tough to even get hard thinking about Castiel alone.

He tries and tries. He fails, royally.

The more he pushes Dean out of his head, the stronger the images of them together come racing back. So he surrenders. Instead of continuing to grope his balls painfully, he moves his hand back a little and start massaging his taint then his fingers ghost over his hole. He's already leaking, but the constant pounding of warm water keeps washing his release away.

He dips a finger in, experimentally, and it slides in easy. No lube needed, good. He pulls the slicked finger out and turns around in the bathtub. He leans back against the shower wall, and braces a leg on the rim of the tub. Sam adjusts his stance, spreading his legs wider, carefully so he wouldn't slip. He pushes his raised knee out and his butt cheeks part a little. He pushes a finger into his tight heat again and clenches his hole. He's gentle at first, then as his mind wanders into taboo territory, he goes to town on his own ass; at one point, sticking four fingers inside, trying to hit his prostate as many times as he can.

He fucks the fingers in and out, his pace punishing and his hard dick throbbing, and bobbing with his jerky movements. In spite of himself, he moans deeply, and then he starts flat out babbling as he fantasizes about all the ways Dean could take him, how he'd like his strong, well-endowed alpha son to fuck him until he passes out. The thoughts make his insides shiver. He whispers his son's name, Dean, as he finger fucks himself even harder, repeats it like a litany, Dean, Oh Dean, Dean. The lewd sounds are drowned out by the running water. Or so he thinks.

He doesn't hear it, of course, when the bathroom door is opens and someone comes in—in fact, he doesn't notice anything until suddenly the shower curtain is pulled back and there he is face to face with the very son whose name is on his lips as he's touching himself. Dean doesn't speak. His son stands there, and shamelessly stares. For a second or two, his mind freezes. Then when it unfreezes and Sam realises what he must look like, he quickly pulls his fingers out of his ass, but it's too little too late. The rush of seeing Dean, fully clothed, lustfully staring at his naked private parts, his gaze zeroed in on Sam's genitals and the hand between his legs, his eyes dark and wanting, coupled with Sam's impending orgasm, means he can’t hold it in, hard as he tries. He shoots his load untouched right there, his soft pecs and belly wobbling softly as he bends forward a little and as the spasms coarse through his core ... and Dean watches, fascinated, panting, with a hand cupping the bulge obviously straining his pants.

The breath is knocked out of Sam for how strong his orgasm is. His face is burning and he shifts his gaze downward, just watching his come get washed down the drain. For a few seconds, he can't even will himself to look back up at Dean.

"I came in to pee, and I heard you. I heard my name," Dean says, explaining, still breathing heavy like he can't help it. Perfect, just perfect, Sam thinks bitterly.

"I thought you were in pain," his son adds. Dean's voice is hoarse and it's doing all kinds of crazy things to Sam. It's like his voice is caressing his sensitive skin with every syllable. Sam shudders and dribbles out the last of his release. He dares to look up. But he's spent and his head falls back to rest at the wall behind him.

Dean's eyes are still dark, and—what's that word Cas used—feral.

Well, Sam sees it now, and it makes him tremble. His hole is flexing, and his legs are still splayed out. His dick is drained and softening quickly, but he still feels the pressure around the head and at his slit, like it's pulsing from the inside.

Sam looks straight at Dean's eyes, and he feels like pissing himself. He feels the sudden urge to lose control of his bladder and humiliate himself ... for Dean, like some omegas would do as a show of complete submission to their alphas.

If he goes there, there's no turning back. No detours.

Stop. Stop. Stop. You can't let this go any further, his mind screams, or the part of it that can still make sense of the world and his surroundings right now. His nearing heat must be blinding his senses, he concludes.

So Sam shuts his eyes, and just whispers to his son to "get out."

"Mom," Dean says, and he's close to begging. His son must be hard and aching right now. He doesn't envy him. It must be too painful for words. He knows alphas. Not many of them have got this level of self control. If this wasn't Dean, he would've been as good as raped right now.

"Get. Out. _Now_ ," Sam says, a little ruthless, despite his dazed state thanks to a mind-shattering orgasm whose residual buzz is still a little numbing. "Don't let me repeat myself," he spits, at once demanding and begging. His heart beats double-time at the thought of Dean coming closer—Dean, imperious and strong, pushing Sam back and taking what he wants under a spray of warm water and against slippery tiles.

But he doesn’t. Dean obeys, and he turns on his heel and slams the door.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: 
> 
> \- Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story and will continue to get heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily triggered, please turn back now.
> 
> \- I usually go back and correct typos and grammar errors a day after I publish, so you'll find that I sometimes repost the *same* chapter again the next day. Hope you don't mind.
> 
> \- Leave your thoughts please. It's pretty awesome hearing from you xox


	18. No strings attached (chapter tag)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean feels sucker punched. And he's clutching at straws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the tail end of the last chapter. I thought of giving you something, since chapter 18 is taking much longer than anticipated. I also got distracted writing a full 4,000-word chapter so far into the future of this story (but the inspiration came, and I couldn't stop myself. Sorry!).
> 
> This is Dean's POV (well, more accurately, third person POV since I'm still the narrator). Next chapter, we're on Sam again.

Dean and his mom's routine of non-communication has left Dean feeling isolated and withdrawn. His mother’s earlier prudent hesitation—which Dean had honestly thought they were over and done with—had suddenly transformed into flat-out rejection, bending Dean out of shape and dashing his hopes to smithereens. This time, his mom is not insisting on a resolution to their stand-off, and Dean's stubbornly not eager for one if it means agreeing to being _just_ mother and son. 

Vexed, he tries to spend as much time away from home, but his pent-up frustration is doggedly keeping up with him and he ends up carrying it everywhere. Even boxing practice fails to take the edge off. Whatever thoughts occupy his mind during the day, it’s Sam that he ends up thinking about before he falls asleep at night.

He doesn't know if he's more angry or anguished about the separation from his mom, and in a first, Dean wishes he had a close girlfriend to vent to.

It's not like he can share with Benny. The way Benny talks about sex, lovers, omegas, girls, is crass and slightly perverted, and his relationship with his mom is not a matter of prurient interest. Ash is the last person to talk to about matters of the heart, being the standard nerd that he is. Dean and him are not _that_ close anyway. Charlie, a typical beta and a proper girl, would never get it. He never speaks to her about his _regular_ sex life for starters, for fear of scandalising her.

Save for Rhonda, he never disclosed this part of his ‘love life’ to another soul, so he wouldn't even know where to begin. Can he even trust anyone with what’s transpired between him and his mom?

Dean has always been jealously private, specifically about his home, and especially ever since he realised having a male omega for a mom is considered a little exotic.

He remembers how some parents would stare at Sammy when his mother would drop him off to school. Some, particularly the male alphas, would be a little too eager to strike conversation. As a child, Dean didn't realise where the feverish interest, verging on fixation, was coming from. As he grew older, he became amorphously aware of how most alphas are obsessed with male omegas; how it's almost like a fetish. As if, unlike the rest of the population, omega men hail from some far outlandish places that everyone is deadly curious about. His friends are mildly curious too, except for Charlie who has a male omega for a cousin.

Dean never wants to give his friends cause for murmuring about him, his mom or his family’s slightly avant-garde lifestyle—and telling anyone he's got the hots for mommy is not only fodder for gossip but also kindling for scandal.

It’s not pushing the envelope, it’s smashing it altogether. Bumping uglies with family members is not unheard of, but Dean knows that in this day and age, only radical, far-right traditionalists would approve.

Dean is experiencing other problems too. While his lust for Sammy is in overdrive—he knows his mom still feels _something_ if what he witnessed in the shower is anything to tell by—Dean has been experiencing a chronic case of ‘dead sex drive’ towards all his usual outlets.

Emotionally, he feels raw. Physically, he doesn't feel like smashing hips with anyone.

When Dean had broken it off with Rhonda, Benny took his contemplative silence for sadness. Back then, he nudged him painfully with his elbow saying that the best way to get over someone is get under someone else. "Nuff, brooding. Find yourself a juicy omega fucktoy, brother, and take some hot revenge on Rhonda," he said. Dean had never actually corrected Benny's presumptions about his feelings for Rhonda or of how things ended, although his best friend was wildly off mark.

As practical as the advice is (it's tired but tried), Dean doesn't feel like jumping into bed with anyone else but Sammy right now.

His weak appetite for pleasure-seeking has extended to food. Dean used to pig out during meals, especially post workout (his training routine is quite punishing). Ever since Sam cut him loose, everything feels tasteless and he often has trouble finishing a meal; he's lost about five pounds in a couple of weeks.

Inconveniently, he bumps right into Rhonda (of all people) on his way out of school one day. He murmurs an apology that lands like a sneer when he realises who he'd accidentally slammed into. Dean feels like running off in the opposite direction when Rhonda's eyes meet his (really, he has zero tolerance for sass right now, so he hopes she doesn’t even try). But his 'ex' has other ideas.

“Hey Dean, been a while," she begins, as she continues to block his way. "What’s up with you? You don't look so good," she says, but there's no malice in her voice.

Dean really wants to be civilised here, so he tries even though he's at the end of his rope. He shrugs, glossing over her remark about him not looking “so good”.

"It’s nothin’. All's going well with you?” he says, fake-casually, and he wants to be anywhere but here right now. She's still standing in his way.

"It's going. How's your boyfriend?" she asks, seemingly nonchalant, and it feels like a challenge. Dean picks up the gauntlet by lying through his teeth.

"He's good. Thanks for checking.”

"You're not together, are you?”

“Why do you care? We’re fucking peachy.”

“As if,” she says, shaking her head slowly.

"Fuck off, Rhonda,” he spits.

"I knew it," she says under her breath. The conversation has taken a sharp detour and he’s steaming. So Dean squeezes past her, their shoulders unavoidably bumping.

Unexpectedly, Rhonda hurries after him and grabs his arm to slow him down. "Hey, hey, I didn't mean to piss you off," she says, genuinely apologetic. He turns, slipping his arm from her hand and giving her a dirty look.

“Jeez Dean, you’ve always had a short fuse," she says but her tone sounds endearing. "I'm sorry. I really just wanted to know how you are. I care about you, you know."

Dean huffs impatiently.

"Look, Dean. I've been meaning to text you. I'm not mad about you leaving, before. It's cool."

“Okay,” he says, unconvinced. 

"I mean it, Dean. I want us to at least be able to talk to each other. Dude, it doesn't have to be all or nothing."

Dean doesn't say anything. He nods instead, the gesture non-committal. 

"We did have fun," Rhonda adds. 

"I guess," he says, after a moment of silence. She's not wrong. 

"We cool then?"

Dean is reluctant to sweep it all under the carpet, remembering how she got all torqued about the breakup. But he's too tired to stir any more drama so he sighs, his shoulders sagging, and mumbles, "Sure."

She doesn't relinquish the conversation.

"Cool," she says, quickly adding, “Do you wanna hangout sometime? You know, as friends."

"I don't know, Rhonda,” Dean says, with a doubtful expression. Pause. "Maybe."

"Well, you have my number."

They part and Dean thinks it actually went better than he thought it would.

In fact, an hour or so after their encounter, Dean starts thinking that her offer to chill out is not a bad one. Then again, she's the only other person who knows about Sam, sort of. Perhaps it's his chance to get some things off his chest without revealing too much. With Rhonda, the stakes are low.

It's not until a couple of days later that Dean, skin burning with rage that Sammy is now apparently avoiding him altogether, texts Rhonda and takes her up on her offer.

They meet at a greasy spoon. They talk and it's mostly casual; no one initiates any deep conversation. As the evening wears on, they both spend some time skirting around the subjects of their breakup or ‘his boy’ as Rhonda calls Sammy, being blissfully ignorant of his real identity. It seems that Rhonda is willing to act that neither is a big deal.

She, however, furrows her eyebrows mid conversation, and mentions that something still seems up with Dean. “I’m a little worried. Are you really alright?” If he wants to vent, it's his opening, Dean thinks. It’s also a risk; she can razz him about it. But he'll bite.

He finally swallows thickly and confides to her that things went south with ‘his boy’, that she was right and that it hurts something bad.

Instead of the much-feared ridicule, Rhonda extends a hand across the table, laces their fingers together and tells him that she's "sorry"—and it feels like "I told you so" laced with _real_ compassion, which Dean finds a little unbearable.

Why? Because it feels like it's final, like he's lost Sam for good and he's being consoled. He doesn't want to ever think of it this way. He wants to be close again with ‘his boy’, he wants to fuse together.

A part of him, however, is glad that he can at least talk about it after weeks of nearly going out of his mind.

Physically, he can't stand the intimacy of his skin being touched right now, or the troubling weight of a hand in his. He feels like snatching it away, disentangling his hand from Rhonda's soft but prying fingers, but he doesn't. He ends up letting it happen despite feeling distantly conscious of Rhonda's feelings for him. If this situation ends up reviving hope that they can rekindle their 'romance', he’s not responsible for it.

She's here and solid, and the knowledge that he's in love with someone he can't or shouldn't have is like a secret bond tying them together. Dean has to admit that he's been craving some companionship too. It's friggin' Rhonda, he knows. _The_ _school slut_ , as some call her. But _maybe_ this will do.

After a short moment, she quirks an eyebrow and says, “Wanna sweep some beers from home?”

"Always," Dean says, the thought of returning _his_ home with beer on his breath and getting a rise out of mommy is suddenly very appealing. 

They take off and Dean thinks: Maybe—and it's a much smaller, frailer, maybe—they can be friends after all.

Art: [Pompei 77](http://pompei77.deviantart.com/) \- reposted here and on tumblr **with** the artist's permission. Do not repost.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, Chapters 1-5, and 16-18, are now beta'd and updated.
> 
> Thank YOU SO DAMN MUCH @lejf and @BlackRoseAmongLilies for agreeing to edit this monster for me. @lejf: your remarks helped me enrich the text so much. @BlackRoseAmongLilies: Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader. At 65,000+ words, you're both heroes! You're doing an amazing job line editing and also enlightening me about characterisation. Now I want everyone to go back and re-read the chapters you beta'd cause they're THAT much better!
> 
> Second, a huge shoutout to my artistic muse "Madame Gabrielle", who I chatted with for the first time last week. Her paintings create a lovely mood board in my head for this story. On tumblr, she's "mlle-gabrielle". Check my tumblr; I just reblogged some of her pieces, including one depicting burlesque Sam—to those of you who love crossdressing/omega/bottom Sam or Sam in the realm of the feminine, you're welcome! ;-) 
> 
> A big thank you to Pompei77, another brilliant and gifted artist, who's allowed me to repost her (his?) work on this fic, with credit. Check out the artist's deviant art page (link at the end of the chapter); it's delish!
> 
> Finally, to those who're still invested in this story, a heartfelt thank you is also due. I love reading your critiques, thoughts, and reflections. They're the fuel to my creative energy! And I'm humbled by your unwavering support. xox


	19. Derailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam breaks, in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> \- Let me reiterate that I don't warn for everything to avoid spoilers (and the tags reflect this fact) so always read at your own risk (and always remember that I love you and respect your choice not to continue reading if you start feeling any discomfort). 
> 
> \- This chapter was originally published on the 13th of August but I just decided to re-publish it after diligently reviewing it and adding some things, especially to the final dialogue between Sam and Dean. I corrected some typos and cleaned it all up. Sexed it up a bit too ;-) Sorry, I'm the queen of nitpicking. Hope you enjoy this version. If you've already read this, there's no pressure to read it again of course (though I just really wish you would, since I believe this write-up is more superior to the original).

Sam dreams of Mary, and wakes up drenched in sweat, tears streaking down his face. Again.

Castiel is fast asleep with his back turned to Sam. The thin blanket is bunched around their waists. Sam rolls towards him, burrowing against his side and brushing his fingers lightly across his husband’s naked back. On most nights, like tonight, they sleep in the nude. It's less constrictive and when they're tangled together, the warmth from their bodies is usually reassuring.

Sam continues to gently stroke Castiel's back, but he doesn't stir. His husband is a heavy sleeper; nothing short of a zombie apocalypse could rouse him after a tiring, long day. Sam often sleeps fitfully, especially recently, regardless of how short or long his day had been. He spends his nights battling insomnia triggered by indecent thoughts for his older son, or recurring, frightfully vivid nightmares.

Sam shifts again. He lies flat on his back and stares at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity, before he pushes himself off the bed and decides to go check on Adam and Dean. He slips on a pair of boxers, tiptoes barefoot to their rooms and thankfully, they’re both sleeping soundly. Sam sighs and pads down to the living room. He turns on the TV and mutes it so as not to wake any of his family up. Right now, he's partial to the isolation.

Sam just lounges there, remote control in hand, flipping to a new channel every minute or so. It's a long while before something old and familiar stops him in his tracks. _I love Judie_. It's an action-comedy show for tweens that he and Mary used to watch as kids. It revolved around an unabashed and untamed teen alpha girl called Judie. Sam, still a child, had not been aware that female alphas were a thing. He'd never met any at school or in their neighborhood, so he naively and very deftly thought that Mary was the only one.

Judie was Mary’s idol at some point; Sam often suspected that Mary tried to mirror the way Judie spoke and some of her flamboyant mannerisms. He had noticed that the fictional character’s brashness and sass also gradually brushed off on Mary— as if Mary had needed more of either. Sam used to tease her endlessly about it. Of course, he'd end up regretting it when Mary would kick his ass and hand it back to him. The show, considered brazen back at the time for depicting a female alpha in a lead role, garnered limited viewing and was eventually taken off the air. Many parents had protested vigorously that the character was a bad influence on their daughters, and that alpha girls shouldn't be encouraged to believe they're equal to men, especially male alphas. 

Naturally, Mary and Sam were bummed when the show was cancelled. Sam had developed a not-so-little crush on Judie himself, and they had both come to love Judie's vibrance, biting humor and bold adventures - it was all very refreshing.

And as if Sam's earlier dream, which now sits half-remembered in his head wasn’t enough, stumbling upon  _I love Judie_ is bringing some unwanted memories back to the surface.

His ‘other’ life, before he and Castiel settled down and made babies together, often seemed distant, like ancient history, up until dreams of Mary kept cropping up and started gnawing at the wall Sam had erected inside his mind. As unhealthy as it was to just tuck away old trauma and torment, following years of therapy Sam had decided that forgetting was the best way to go. He tried not to scratch at that wall, standing between him and his past life, out of self preservation. Otherwise, he feared he’d be locked in his own mind for the rest of his life.

Before becoming someone’s other half, Sam Winchester, née Campbell, was the youngest of two, son of Jeffrey and Gwen Campbell. His parents had dreamed a large family, of perhaps five or six kids as is the norm among traditionalists, but that dream never materialized.

His mother’s side of the family is populated by many alphas, men with well-defined bones, broad shoulders, strong backs, slightly tanned complexions, none of them standing below six feet—it’s where Sam got the shape of his jaw, and his long, lean, and coltish frame. But not the alpha genes. He didn’t inherit those.

When his older sister Mary presented as alpha, it was unexpected. Their parents were taken aback, because it was an alpha girl. Nevertheless, they quickly recovered, and took it to mean that "we’re bearers of alphas". If even their girl turned out an alpha, by default Sam would be one too, like his own father and sister, and like his uncles, and cousins before him, they thought. In their rose-tinted glasses, it was a near certainty that they relished in for a while.

There were always signs that Sam would never be, however.

The shy manner in which he carried himself, the softness beneath his sturdy exterior, and how he clung to Mary and capitulated to her dominant nature, especially after she presented, were all red flags. The fact that he acted like this without conscious intent was more proof. His father slowly became aware of the signs; his hope tapering off and in its place, disappointment showing. Jeff's disdain creeped into day-to-day conversations, eventually coloring all his interactions with his son.

But his mother Gwen, frigidly beautiful and brutally proud, had remained in denial—that or she was adamant to influence Sam’s biology, like it was an affront to her and what she stood for. Her rational mind must have known she couldn't change primal nature, but it looked like her heart could not come to terms with what Sam was.

With equal fervor, she tried to force Mary to tone down her alpha.

Traditional families warm up to the familiar: male alphas and female omegas. A disturbance of this dynamic either brings anxiety or shame, and often, especially in case of male omegas, unwanted attention from knot-heads and a depraved degree of erotic craving.

Treated as eccentrics, Mary and Sam always felt like partners in crime. Growing up in each other's pockets, they also clung to each other for comfort. 

But it was Sam that had carried the “omega” tag like a chip on his shoulder for years. Mary (beautiful, fierce Mary, her dirty blonde locks always matted, and her green eyes alight with mischief) reveled in her nature. She celebrated it every day with small acts of rebellion and obstinance—her attitude a perpetual middle finger to traditionalists.

Then she died. When it happened, Sam had stayed in bed with cold chills, trembling from the shock of it for days on end. It took weeks before he could find his bearings, and go out and face the world again. Then again, Mary was more a parent to him than either of his parents ever were.

Her death is possibly the greatest tragedy of Sam's life.

The pressure to shed his omega skin didn’t ease with Mary’s death. His mother’s grief soon turned into waves of hostility that were directed towards Sam and Sam alone.

Officially presenting as an omega at 15, Sam became an even easier target for his mother’s taunts and fitful outbursts of anger.

The inevitable confirmation of his gender identity further alienated him from his father who, following Mary’s death, had become sullen and apathetic. Then, Jeffrey retreated to the sidelines until one morning, he simply upped and left. Sam has not seen him since.

With his father's departure from their lives, Sam’s misfortunes got dialed up. His mother alternated between being impossibly cold and gratuitously aggressive. Sam believes that without her alpha, his mother must have felt she was without a lifeline. She probably felt betrayed too, by her husband, and generally, by the world.

Since then, Sam’s mother always walked around like a woman who was denied divine providence—like she was being unduly punished.

But Sam could have protected her; he was and is very much a man. Omega or not, he could’ve been the head of the house, in lieu of his father, if only his mother had allowed herself to lean on him. If only she was a gentler soul, Sam could have easily become that lifeline on his mother’s toughest days, Sam thinks retrospectively. 

But all Gwen did was become more insistent on beating the omega out of Sam, which she did, figuratively … and literally, sometimes.

“Stand straight, Sam,” she would say, prodding him painfully in the shoulders. “Chin up ... man up ... Speak up," whatever it was, she was always exasperated with him. "Louder, Sam, say it like a man,” she’d screech, giving him a cuff on the ear, or “Sam, don’t sit with your legs closed up like a tongue-tied, shy omega, or you'll get the spanking of your life!"

But he _is_ and always was an omega. As if by twisting him out of shape, his mother thought that she could somehow alter who he is and was. It all made him miserable; he couldn’t just get himself to bite the bullet, or grin and bear it.

Years on and Sam still feels a tightness in his stomach whenever he remembers all this. It's the same sinking feeling he used to have as he waited for his mother to reprimand him, spank him, or tell him off for one crazy thing or another. In that way, the memories regress him to being a child. Every time he remembers, he feels 12 again, deprived of love and smothered by prejudice.

To add insult to injury, outside of their home, Sam was expected by society to conform to his nature; act the part of a willing or submissive omega. His manly clothing, neutral tone and androgynous mannerisms—more similar to a beta man than an omega man thanks to his mother—confused people.

Growing up, he always felt like a fraud.

The divide—suppressing his nature indoors for his mother's benefit and being bombarded by opposing expectations outdoors—had nearly brought Sam to his knees.

In reality, it’s his mother that's the fraud. A beta, born to a traditional family and married to a satisfyingly traditional alpha, she had always relished the alpha-omega lifestyle and enacted it to a fault.

Sam suspects that his grandparents were ambivalent towards their daughter until her wedlock. Being born as a beta into a traditional family must have not been easy. Through her marriage into a traditional family, Sam imagines that proving she could bag an alpha and live like an omega, even if she weren’t born as one, elevated Gwen’s status in the family. It's probably why his mother had a solid relationship with her parents, whom they all visited every other weekend like a ritual when Sam and Mary were growing up.

It wasn't the case with his father's side. They seldom exchanged visits and socialized only during the holidays. Sam never knew why. He lost contact with most of them over the years. The reason why Jeffrey, as traditional as they come, married a beta in the first place remains a mystery to Sam. A perpetual question mark.

Perhaps his father did love his mother (though, on most days, Sam always found it hard to see her as lovable in any way), or perhaps he was bedazzled by Gwen’s heritage and her parents’ old money. Sam still remembers how huge his grandfather’s house was; how regal. It’s that money and status that had helped them keep their dignity after their household crumbled and Sam’s father - the money maker in the family - had pulled a vanishing act.  

Sam’s emancipation finally came in the form of Castiel, the angel who snatched Sam’s soul from the inner circles of hell, and from the depths of self-loathing, promising to guard him with his life and respect all his wishes.

Unlike Sam’s parents, Castiel had not only accepted Sam’s omega nature but also indulged it lovingly, and unlike society, he neither tried to pigeonhole Sam as an exotic cumdump for his horny alpha nor erotocized his existence.

Sam had tested Cas and his limits a lot, pushed every button but Cas, gods bless him, endured, and took it all in stride. It was not just progressive, it was also sweet, romantic, and incredibly refreshing. And it reminded Sam, endearingly, of Mary—the only other person who never tried to change him.

Meeting Castiel and falling in love became a milestone in Sam’s life. There was life before Cas, and life after.

And after becoming a couple, Sam didn’t look back.

During his teens, progressive Alpha-Omega movements had been on the rise, but Sam had followed them only from a distance. He couldn’t afford to align himself with them, or root for them publicly, and risk his mother’s fury. After Castiel, he could breathe.

Sam remembers how when he signed up for his first peaceful omega rights march; it felt like an act of revolution. Cas was reluctant to participate at first—to declare his affinity to such movements was to part ways with his family and heritage. But he came around, mainly for Sam.

He made Sam’s life better. But then, that's Cas. He makes everything he touches better, Sam muses with a smile.

Sam was surprised to find that Gwen wasn’t up in arms against his marriage to Cas. In fact, it looked like she finally realized that her son was a lost cause so the prospect of separation, shifting the burden to another person, seemed to give her comfort.

Sam and Cas didn't have a wedding ceremony; they both didn't care that much for it. Money-wise, they couldn't afford to splurge on one anyway so they got married at city hall and moved into a small apartment a couple of weeks later.

The day before Sam was to move out, his mother chatted on the phone, immersed herself in a novel for an hour or so, then spent a fair amount of time in the living room, eyes glued to the TV—doing anything but spending time with Sam.

She, consciously or perhaps out of habit, ignored him. Sam couldn't tell.

When he was done packing, he eventually joined her.

He was just freshly married off, but the impulse to lash at his mother (that had always racked him) never failed to reduce him to feeling like a moody child. His indignation still lived inside of him. That day, Sam and his mother spent about an hour in silence, sitting rigidly on opposite sides of the same couch, before Sam finally plucked up enough courage to speak.

“There’s enough pain in the world, mother,” Sam had said with deliberate care, hoping his words would leave an impression. “And I don’t wish it upon you.” He didn't meet her eyes. The silence continued to be heavy, he recalls, stretching like miles of road between them. Sam had swallowed around the lump in his throat and added somberly, “I forgive you.”

It was a lie, of course. At the moment, he'd only wanted to feel somewhat morally superior. It was gratifying on some level to hold his pain over his mother’s head then declare that she was pardoned, without arguments or any attempts to guilt trip her. It superficially gave Sam the air of a saint or a messiah.

In reality, it took years of therapy and self-medication for Sam to actually half forgive his mother.

But back then, during Sam’s last night in his family house and despite his parting words, his mother didn’t own up to anything, not to any of her toxic habits or her withered motherly feelings, none of that. If it hadn't been for how her lips pursed into a tight knot, in response to Sam’s words, it would’ve appeared to Sam like his mother hadn't even heard him.

But “I forgive you” was the last thing he had said to her, as far as he remembers, aside from mumbling a quick goodbye before taking off with Castiel the next day.

Sam has always been proud of his exit from his mother’s life, even if what she’d done to him messed him up in ways he couldn’t count or even fully account for. At least his mother had stuck around long enough to be partly forgiven, Sam thinks. It's not something that he can say of his father.

....

Sam remains camped out on the living room couch until the next morning. He ends up falling asleep watching a war flick. He only catches a few z's before he rises up once again to prepare breakfast for his family ahead of the morning rush to school and work. He prays that Castiel doesn't realize that he was missing from their bed at any point. His husband might think it's on purpose or that something is wrong with them—which there is, Sam muses,  _but their relationship doesn't need any additional strain, thank you very much._

A few hours after his husband and son leave the house, Sam receives a happy phone call from Castiel telling him that his promotion is now official and that naturally, it comes with a fatter paycheck and the promise of travel and some jet-setting. Cas, ecstatic, tells Sam that they should definitely celebrate tonight. It's Friday anyway, so they can stay out late, drink to their hearts' desire, and sleep it all off the next day.

Feeling wrung out from lack of sleep, Sam would rather stay inside; he really isn't in the mood to dine out but he can't say no to Cas now that the promotion he'd been slaving away for has finally happened. So of course he plays along, feigning enthusiasm.

He'll whip up a meal for the kids and ask Dean to babysit his younger brother, Sam thinks, trying to get all his ducks in a row. He can ask Ellen, next door, if she minds being on call in case of any emergencies. Sam knows she won't mind.

Cas texts again later in the day to say that Meg and Fergus should be joining them. They're the closest things to best friends to Sam and Cas, and Sam genuinely likes them both. Cas and Fergus work together, and they go on fishing trips every so often, and Meg is pretty easy going and loves a good laugh. They're both progressive and they don't intrude in any way. 

Frankly, Sam would rather celebrate with Dean and Adam, _but, hey, whatever Cas wants right now_. 

When Castiel finally walks into the house - tie loose, his jacket thrown over his arm, and arriving later than expected - he hurries over to Sam and hugs him fiercely. Sam feels sweaty and gross from spending too much time by the stove cooking something healthy for Dean and Adam to eat when he and his husband are out, but he hugs Cas back anyway. 

Castiel smells a little of beer and cigarettes. He most probably had early drinks with his work buddies before heading home. He's beaming and oozing off cheer, so Sam decides not to berate him for smoking. Sam hasn't seen him this cheerful for months, and it's frankly quite beautiful to behold—smoke and mild beer breath notwithstanding.

They kiss for a minute before Cas pinches and slaps Sam's butt and orders him to clean up and get ready.

When Sam pops in the shower, he's surprised when, a moment later, Castiel jumps in there with him—they haven't showered together in a long time, not since their first year of marriage, now that Sam thinks about it.

It turns out Sam doesn't mind being trapped in the small shower space with Cas. They spend some time lathering up each other and scrubbing themselves clean, before it turns a little sensual and they end up getting hot and bothered from all the touching, making out under the warm spray of water. Cas feels safe and familiar. The hot kissing makes the deal so much sweeter, and Sam completely relaxes, forcing all his dark thoughts to grind to a halt, and just focuses on how his body is responding to Cas. _And God, is it responding_. His nearing heat is making sure his cock stirs and starts filling up. His hole twitches in anticipation.

Penetrative sex under the shower is trickier than people think, and from experience, Sam feels that if they move to the bed now, they'll end up staying there for the rest of the night, so he and Cas end up jacking each other off under the spray until they both come. When they finish, they wash off some more then pad out of the bathroom and ready themselves for the night out.

 _Things may look up again_ , Sam thinks, feeling sexy, squeaky clean, and perked up following that steamy albeit brief lovemaking session. Perhaps it's just a rough patch and he'll eventually find it in himself to fall in love with Cas again - instead of reducing him to being a placeholder for Dean. Perhaps he can crave and desire his husband like he used to if he gives them both the chance. Well, right now, Sam is praying for it. He's painfully aware that Castiel deserves better than what they currently have, and it's eating up at Sam's insides.

Before they leave the house, Sam goes to check on their boys. They're both in the living room, Adam splayed out on the couch, and Dean sitting cross-legged on the floor texting someone. Dean is holding his phone at an angle and Sam can't see the screen from where he's standing. His radar involuntarily goes up. _Perhaps he's chatting up the blonde_ , _Rhonda_ , Sam thinks. It makes Sam feel funny, but he culls his curiosity, and instead asks Dean if he'd like Jo, or Benny and Ash, to come over and keep him and his brother company.

Dean shrugs. "It's alright, not in the mood for people," he says, nonchalantly.

Dean is still lukewarm and withdrawn, and Sam feels sorry for that. 

When Castiel walks in, the boy forces a small smile and huffs a "Congratulations, dad. You deserve it" at his father that just feels awkward. Cas thanks him, ruffling his hair. The gesture clearly annoys Dean but he doesn't speak up.

Sam can see that Adam is already getting tired and sleepy, but he's not worried. He knows his big brother will take care of him and, when it's sleep time, tuck him in. Tonight, Sam won't sweat the small stuff or overthink. _Tonight is for Cas and Cas alone,_ he decides.

On his way out, Sam kisses Adam's cheek tenderly, then leans in to place a soft kiss on Dean's forehead. His older son doesn't pull away and Sam counts it a win.

....

At such a short notice, they couldn't make advance reservations in any of their favorite restaurants, so they decided to play it by ear; start the evening at a cocktail bar then take it from there.

With the other three downing one drink after another, giggling their way through the evening, Sam highly doubts that they're presentable enough for any sort of fine dining. The bar has a good menu, and they can just eat there. But Castiel insists on changing the venue, tells Sam to look up the nearest steakhouse on his phone. Well, the nearest one is an hour away but it's his night, so Sam is willing to indulge him.

Castiel swigs more drinks than everyone else, already starting to slur his words. Meg and Fergus are a little tipsy. Sam holds back in an effort to remain the more sober person between them. 

Leaving the bar, they all walk aimlessly for a few blocks before deciding it's time they request an uber or hail a cab. 

They stop and while Fergus fiddles with his phone to request a driver, Cas and Meg chat laughingly about the antics of Fergus' junior secretary. Sam had never met her so he just stays on the sidelines and looks on.

So much for Sam's promise to focus only on Cas tonight, and think of no one else (or one-particular-person-else), he still couldn't help how he got a little riled up noticing that they are standing near a window for a lingerie shop that catered to both women and male omegas.

Sam eyes the numbers on the mannequins, depicting male and female figures, and gulps. Cas is still engaged in light-hearted conversation and is completely oblivious to how the heat is rising up in his wife's face, coloring it red, unaware of the thoughts that the lace bras, satin panties, and see-through night gowns are conjuring in Sam's mind.

One specific item on display—a black, sheer babydoll with a flirty bow under the breasts and matching thongs—catches Sam's eye, and he looks at it brazenly, almost too long. He imagines himself donning it, all dolled up for Dean, his own masculinity standing in contrast to the delicate lace that would barely cover his skin, accentuate his round pecs and the soft curve of his belly, leaving little to the imagination. Sam could picture the look on Dean's face if he ever sees him dressed like this, features transitioning from young and innocent to fierce and lustful, body responding beautifully to his own mother, and Sam's cock stirs.

Despite his protests, he still craves being wanted by Dean; he's secretly addicted to seeing the effect he has on his son. He wants him. And he wants Dean to covet him. He wants to morph into that wanton omega than Dean obviously desires, and he wants his son to fuck him senseless. Sam's mouth waters at the images in his head, and he feels a little dizzy with it, a little wet between his ass cheeks. His nipples tingle and harden beneath his shirt.

Realizing he's still with company, and not in his bed at night fantasizing away, he quickly looks away from the store window and tries to get his breathing, and his filthy mind, under control.

The guilt soon follows; here he is, pretending to be there for Castiel, telling himself he could fix things, when inside his head, he's cheating. Still tethered to their son.

"Earth to Sam," Meg hollers at him and he jumps slightly at the intrusion. He realizes she was already talking to him before. He forces himself back to the moment, and smiles at her. "Sorry, drifted off a little."

"For a moment there, you had a lights-on-but-no-one-home expression on your face," she says. Cas is giving him this strange look and for a fleeting moment, it almost feels like his husband is sober again and can see right through him.

"How's our driver doing?" Sam quickly asks, if only to flee Castiel's gaze. 

"Two minutes away," Fergus responds.

When the car finally pulls up in front of them, they pile in - still without a destination in mind.

”We’re looking for the very best steakhouse in all of Stonehill," Cas begins. The driver probably thinks they're tourists or something. He smiles, then, after some thinking, politely makes some suggestions.

"Just choose one and take us there?" Cas says and Sam cracks up.

Sam spares the poor driver and randomly makes the pick for them.

"Do we need to book a table in advance?" he double checks. Apparently not.

The four of them end up in this swanky restaurant on the other side of town. The prices on the menu are over the top but the margaritas are very potent, and the service is great. They wolf down their steaks, juicy and quite delicious and well worth their price tag, then Cas orders a round of shots. "Here's to Cas and his awesome, hard-earned promotion," says Meg, and the four of them raise and clink glasses. "To Cas," they speak in chorus.

Cas drinks his shot then shakes his glass. "More shots?"

Sam is slightly worried; his husband is pounding back a few and Sam doesn't know whether Cas is still celebrating or trying to drown down _something_.  _Worries, fears, sorrow or all of the above._  Something feels off.

Their seemingly-perfect marriage _has_ been on the rocks recently, Sam thinks gloomily, and in a first, he's secretly wondering if they'll ever make it to "till death do us part". Cas doesn't exactly know about Sam's doubts, but he might have instinctively realized that they're struggling.

Suddenly anxious and not knowing what else to do, Sam takes one of Castiel's hands in his and squeezes firmly. Castiel squeezes back, and leans in to give Sam a quick peck on the lips.

Soon enough, the giggles and silliness taper off and give way to quiet conversation. Fergus and Meg, who're childless by choice, say they've been thinking of expanding their family. "Fucking finally," says Cas. "This is big, you guys," Sam adds. Kids are a grand responsibility and both Fergus and Meg are employed full-time, both fearlessly ambitious and very career-oriented. Someone will have to pull the brakes a little, and make time for the kids if, or when, they come. Sam guesses it will probably be Meg. They're not an alpha and omega couple, but their dynamics are sometimes similar to one. And Meg knows how to make Fergus feel he’s boss. 

"I'll tell you this. Having children? It's a decision we never regretted," Cas says, still slurring from all the liquor. "We have such a sweet time," he continues to ramble. "Sam and I are a team, and we do things as a team."

Sam smiles and agrees, swinging his arms around his husband's shoulders.

It's all good and civilized until the couple in the table next to them start becoming a little loud. Obviously drunk, the man and woman are suddenly all over each other. Kissing turning to flat-out making out. Things escalate quickly and they end up frenching like a couple of teens, making slurping sounds and moaning, in a seated restaurant, in front of God and everyone. Sam realizes he's staring so he looks away quickly, exchanging amused smiles with Cas and the rest. It's not long before the man shrugs off his jacket and pulls the woman into his lap, quite aggressively. Alpha and omega: their scents are permeating strongly, and instead of amused, everyone at Sam's table now look a little embarrassed. Fergus and Meg, for all their open-mindedness, don't seem too enthralled with the display. It's not _that_ kind of restaurant, not one catering to traditionalists, but most restaurants, even the classy ones, allow for many liberties for alphas and omegas in the throes of their heat, which these two obviously are. "Oh my God," exclaims Meg, as the exhibitionist couple start dry humping. The entire table laughs. 

Sam's laugh is a little nervous though, because unlike the rest, all this is really affecting him. He's warm and soft down there, and a part of him wishes Cas would move his hand under the table and start stroking him through his clothes until he's hard. Then perhaps he could get him off, as they try and make polite conversation with friends. Sam thinks he might let it happen.

His mind skitters off to Dean again, and again, he wonders if this is something that Dean would do. If his alpha son would shamelessly devour him in a public place, as everyone watches, careless of their surroundings. Not unlike this couple.

Sam is also curious about how far the man and woman would go in a place like this.

His curiosity is not satisfied, however. Fergus orders the check, and they're out of the restaurant before Sam gets to see if the couple will end up having sex right there on the table next to them, may be even knot, and whether the restaurant would allow it. Each venue's tolerance to these displays is different. What some consider scandalous, others think is business as usual.

Once outside, Meg barks out laughing. "That was something," she says. "It was," her husband agrees.

"Don't get me wrong, but couples like these two got no shame! Alphas and omegas, man, they're unstoppable," Meg says. "No offense, you guys." 

"None taken," says Cas, reassuring.

They breathe in some fresh air. Then request two different cabs, say their goodbyes and all head home.

...

Back at home, Cas is out like a light moments after they move up to their bedroom. Sam, who's now tipsy himself, succeeds in keeping him awake just long enough to toe off his shoes and pull his shirt and pants off. Castiel will have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, Sam predicts. He'll have to brace himself for it. Cas is not cute when he's feeling sour or pissed.

Sam takes a quick shower, puts a pair of briefs on and slides into bed next to Castiel. He looks at his sleeping husband, and a pang of guilt rises up in his chest. How can you make yourself love a person again, he thinks. He still loves Cas, like a partner and the father of their children, but it's not that burning hot, crazy love they used to have. He leans over and plants a chaste kiss on Castiel's cheek, then pulls back and closes his eyes. Tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow will bring a resolution to the rut they're in.  

...

Sam is lured out of sleep by a strange sensation: featherlike touches across his abs, and below his navel, and a warm breath hitting his nether region. At first he thinks he's dreaming; it does feel good, and his body is heating up slightly in response to the barely-there touches.

He's having a wet dream, he thinks as his brain teeters on the edge of consciousness.

The pressure on his genitals becomes more pronounced, though, the heat rising quickly. Still drowsy and half-asleep, it takes Sam a moment to realize he's not actually dreaming. He manages to pry open his eyes as the touches become more insistent. His surroundings are dimly illuminated by lights leaking from the hallway and streaming out from the street through their uncurtained bedroom windows.

As Sam rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and as they slowly adjust to the low light, he can't believe what he's seeing.

"Dean?" He croaks. 

His son has apparently pulled down the covers, sat himself between Sam's slightly parted legs and is now brazenly staring at Sam's naked groin, without an ounce of shame or inhibition, while Castiel is sound asleep next to him. Sam doesn't even know how Dean has managed to get his briefs down his hips and his thighs without waking him up. He can barely suppress a groan at how depraved and dirty it feels. 

"Dean," he says again, and his voice is still hoarse. "What are you doing?"

Sam still feels dizzy, can't make himself move.

"I missed you," Dean whispers, bending over his body, his lips now mere inches away from Sam's dick. Dean starts to kiss along the length of Sam's cock. His right hand comes up, and follows the thin trail of hair on Sam's belly, creeping down into the thicker, coarser thatch of crotch hair around his cock. His hand bypasses Sam's penis, however, and keeps moving down until it reaches the hem of his briefs, still caught around his knees. His left hand comes up and Dean uses both hands to slip Sam's briefs off completely and throw them on the floor. Sam lets him.

Dean moves up again, and starts planting kisses on Sam's stomach. When his tongue dips into his belly button, Sam groans again. Inches away, Castiel rolls over; now he's facing them, snoring lightly next to Sam as Dean touches and fondles him.

Sam is holding his breath, terrified, and his eyes are slowly welling up with tears. He whispers urgently, "Dean, stop." But it falls flat, even on his own ears. "Stop this," he hisses and he knows he doesn't really mean it. Whether it's heat, or lust that's taking control now—whatever this is—Sam feels powerless against it.

Like a man on a mission, his son is unstoppable. He's not taking Sam's protests seriously, because he knows. Sam can't hide his desire, not now; no part of him is hidden from view and Dean can see how Sam's dick is filling up for him, that he's at least half hard now. His eyes flicker up to Sam, defiantly, challenging him to stop him, as he tongues the trail of hairs on Sam's belly until he reaches his dick.  

Dean rubs his face on Sam's cock then carefully takes it in his mouth, and Sam feels like shooting his load right then and there. Dean stills, keeps it popped in his mouth, tucked between his plump lips, like he's savoring the taste before he starts sucking on the head lightly until the pressure on Sam's dick becomes almost unbearable.

Sam is about to speak but Dean chooses this moment to go down on his dick, wetting the length of it. Sam bites his tongue and starts leaking in abandon. He can feel his cockhead tickling the roof of Dean's mouth. Dean slurps down the beads of precum as they come and Sam feels like he'll lose his mind.

It's so wrong, so fucking wrong, but he still doesn't move; doesn't dare to either stir or raise his voice. If Cas opens his eyes, right now, he'll see everything. He'll see Dean blowing him; using his tongue to get Sam off in his marital bed. He'll know that Sam has popped a boner the moment Dean took him in his mouth. And he'll see Sam letting out breathy moans as he watches Dean take his dick, lick around the head, and the underside of it, pushing his tongue into the slit like he wants to fuck it. It isn't long before Sam groans like a dying man and rewards his son with a mouthful of cum.

Dean drinks it down like it's wine, swallowing the sweet and salty hot rush, without spilling a drop. As his orgasm barrels through him, Sam rests his head back on the pillow and cries hot tears. His son continues to drink him down as he shoots his full load, as his asshole squirts and leaks into the bedspread beneath him, his shame making him burn up.

"So fucking hot," Dean whispers. "How are you this hot?"

He then moves up the bed, and lines his body with Sam's and then settles over him. He's still clothed, donning a pair of white boxer briefs and a thin shirt. Sam can feel how hard his son is, how heavy his balls are, as Dean embraces him. Dean must feel how quickly Sam's heart is pounding in his chest - part-arousal, part-fear.

"Dean," he huffs. "Shhh," Dean whispers, as he starts kissing his lips, slowly at first, one brief touch of lips after another, until they lose count of how many times their lips meet. Then Dean starts drawing out the kisses.

Dean kisses passionately, fiercely, like a thirsty man. Sam can taste himself inside Dean's mouth and he can't help but open up more to the kisses.

He should be sick to his stomach, doing this so close to Cas, his husband's breath hitting his shoulders. But he's too distracted by the thrill of kissing Dean again to try and stop this. The tears keep on coming, but Sam still shivers and trembles with need and want as Dean starts rubbing their cocks together.

Sam's hands come up, as if without his volition, and wrap around Dean's waist. They fumble beneath the waistband of Dean's boxers, blindly grabbing at naked flesh.

Itching, and feverish with want, Sam pulls down his son's underwear in one swift move. He's aching to feel him, skin-on-skin. Dean lifts his hips up for a second to help his mom peel his boxers off. When their naked lower bodies touch again, his son's groin feels scorching hot and it's heaven and hell, all at once.

The bed creaks as they move, grinding, soaking each other's dicks, balls and pubic hair in precum. But they're both too far gone to care.

They kiss some more. Sam, blinded with need, moans loudly as Dean mauls his mouth, mashing their lips together, sucking on his tongue, and biting his bottom lip, pushing and pulling, drinking him up like an elixir. Dean has insanely hot lips, and o _h, dear God, they're gonna be the death of him_ , Sam thinks. 

One of Dean's hands creeps up between them and his son's fingers tug on the hard nubs of his nipples and Sam, still a nursing mother, starts leaking there too. He's sloppy and wet everywhere now.

Cas huffs, and rolls on the bed again. Dean and Sam hold still, breathing into each other mouths, their kiss-bruised lips almost glued together. When Cas settles down and his breaths even out, Dean pulls back an inch and whispers "I wanna eat you" into the damp air between their wet mouths.

Sam should shake his head, he should push his son off and make it stop here. His rational mind knows he should draw a line somewhere. He should fight this. But he doesn't. A moment later, Dean is sitting between his legs again, and Sam willingly parts them for his son - all his willpower long gone.

Sam feels like a slut, spreading his legs like this so his son could go down on him, put his mouth at his most base part, kiss him, and touch him in a forbidden place that only his lawfully wedded husband should be allowed to touch. But he does it anyway. Because the way Dean looks down at him makes his flesh burn. The way his son's eyes is now raking over him, while his palms are stroking up his thighs, it's an absorbing, mesmerizing thing. The way Dean neglects his own engorged dick, pleasuring Sam instead, makes Sam's insides tingle. 

Dean hooks his strong hands behind Sam's knees and pushes his legs up. Sam feels vulnerable and exposed, almost bent in half like this with his thighs open wide. Dean's eyes lock between the obscenely open V of his legs, staring freely at his flushed prick and lewdly-spread butt. 

Sam closes his eyes and jumps a little when he finally feels the pressure of Dean's tongue against his asshole, shamelessly twitching, refusing to close up completely and continuously slicking itself for the alpha. 

Dean pushes his tongue into the moist and warmth of Sam's hole, and it opens up to him like a flower. The tight heat sucks the tip of his tongue in.

Sam can't stop leaking, drizzling slick from both his dick hole and his asshole. He buries the side of his face in his pillow, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him. His toes curl from the stimulation.

Dean continues to rim him, alternating between licking around his fluttering, hungry hole, and fucking it with his tongue. Sam's hips are jerking off the bed, riding the waves of pleasure as they come.

When his orgasm hits, too soon, he can't hold back. He tries to but fails. His dick begins shooting untouched and his cum lands on his chest, and face. Seconds later, he squirts into Dean's open mouth, feeding his slick to his son.

Dean nurses at his asshole, laps up everything Sam gives him, sucking it out of him and drinking it up until Sam's gushing well completely dries up.

Sam doesn't think he ever came so strongly in his life. He feels at once satiated and drained and so bone tired, he could pass out.

Dean is still holding his legs open and out. He sniffs his ass, scenting him down there, then he brushes his lips lightly against Sam's pucker, and the overstimulation sends an electric buzz through Sam's body. Dean kisses along his taint. He kisses his hole, then whispers softly into it, "God, you're perfect. I love you so much." Sam feels the heat of the words on his skin, his warm breath hitting his asshole and it twitches. His cheeks burn with the humiliation of allowing his son to be this intimate with him, this close. He's a perverted parent, and he'll go to hell for it, Sam thinks.

"Sammy," Dean whispers. Sam dares to meet his son's eyes. "Keep your legs up, and hold your ass open for me," he says it so simply, entitlement lacing his tone, like he owns Sam's body. Like Castiel, his father, the Alpha of this house, is not trapped in a drunken stupor just one feet away.

"Sammy, I'm still hard. I need to come," he urges. Sam squeezes his eyes shut and does what he's told. Obeying, he puts his own hands behind his knees, and spreads his legs wide, his cheeks parting and revealing his wanton hole for Dean. He can hear his son's heavy breaths, coming faster, as he strips his own dick furiously looking down at Sam's nakedness, using it to relieve his horny wolf. Dean jacks himself off with one hand. With the other, he thumbs at Sam's entrance, circling the rim of his quivering pucker.

"Such a pretty hole. So hot, goddamn," Dean whispers, lightly biting his bottom lip. "Fucking perfect."

Sam moans as his asshole is nudged, as Dean thrusts his hot, pulsating cockhead against it. Rubbing, playing with his rim, but not breaching. Sam, against all reason, wishes Dean would just push inside. He bears down, willing his ass to open up more, silently begging to be invaded. The wet tip of Dean's cock kissing his entrance like this is an awful tease.

Dean had once called Sam a whore. It was in anger and Sam, indignant and mad, had slapped his son. But now he thinks, maybe Dean was right. Perhaps he really is a whore, and Dean just saw through his bullshit. After all, he's allowing this to happen, isn't he? And for all its wrongness, it's not even enough. Sam wants more. He wants Dean inside of him so much he can barely breathe.

Sam endures the slow torture, however, without revealing his sick needs.

Moments later, he feels a hot wetness against his hole as his son drenches it in cum. Some of it gets inside of him, mixing with his own fresh slick. Dean groans deeply, like a wounded animal, as he shoots his release.

Castiel stirs again, and this time, Sam finds his voice. "Dean, just go," he whispers, his own chest still punching out fast, short breaths. "Please," he adds and his voice is shot to hell.

Dean waits for a few moments until he can breathe steadily again before he pushes himself off the bed, his boxers still bunched up around his ankles. Before covering himself, he attacks Sam's mouth and kisses him deeply. His tongue darts out to taste his tears, and softly lick the drying cum off his face. He prods and licks his nipples clean too. Then he goes back to kissing his mouth some more.

The smooching sound of their wet kisses, as their soft lips catch and part repeatedly, feels obscene in the otherwise deadly quiet room.

His son finally pulls back before they lose themselves again, looking almost as wracked and worn out by his orgasm as Sam is (by his several ones in a row).

"I love you," Dean whispers breathlessly against his lips one last time tonight. Then he stands up straight, pulls up his boxers, and walks out of the room. 

Sam can feel his son's cum seeping out of him and wetting the bed as he watches him leave and close the door behind him. He feels at once whole and destroyed, and he can't begin to imagine what this means for all of them. 

....

_The morning after ..._

Sam flings open the curtains in Dean's bedroom while Dean is fast asleep. It's a little past 6 am so the light is still faint outside. Dean stirs, looking feverish, and he groans. "What the hell, mom?"

"Oh, so you still remember I'm mom."

"What the—what's that supposed to mean?" Dean slurs, still fending off sleep.

"Nothing, get up, and start packing. You're moving to Bobby's today. If your dad won't drive you there, I will."

"Come again?" Dean feels like an ice bucket has been emptied straight over his head. 

"My heat's coming on strong," Sam says, as he opens Dean's closet and grabs a duffel bag.

 _You don't say_ , Dean thinks sarcastically. Sam is reeking from his heat. Dean practically tasted it in his slick last night as he went to town on his ass. But it looks like his mom is pretending last night didn't happen. He's refusing to look Dean in the eye either.

"Mom, is this some kind of a joke?"

"Your dad and I have been planning on it anyway, 'cause it's hitting early. And—"

"And what?"

"Things can get out of control, you know the deal, shielding yourself from my heat can drain you," Sam says, as he starts fishing out clothes from the closet and some of Dean's drawers.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean says. His mom sidesteps his comment and he still wouldn't look at him. "By the way, I can pack on my own."

"Happy to help Dean, speed it all up," Sam says, deadpanning, as he continues to fill the bag.

"Come on, do we really have to do this? It's not as bad as it used to be when I first—"

"It's bad in other ways," Sam hisses. "Or don't you remember last night? The heat is—"

"Last night wasn't about the heat. Don't blame--"

"I am, and I will. 'Cause last night, we were out of our minds. I wasn't in control."

"Is that how you wanna play it? Animal attraction, heats and ruts, mom? Take free will out of it?"

"Dean—"

“I mean whatever makes you sleep at night, mom. I don’t give a rats what story you wanna tell yourself. But I told you. I want you and not because of friggin’ biology. Sure, maybe that plays a part. In the old days, they used to believe alphas and omegas are born mated, that it’s fate. Maybe that's part of it too. But it’s not just that for me. I love you. I'm _in_ love with you, dammit."

"Stop saying that."

"At least I have the guts to admit it.”

“You don't know what you're saying, Dean.”

“This is where you're wrong, mom. You still have one foot out of the door, but I’m all in and I know how I feel.”

"Then you're gonna have to find a way to unlove me or to cope, Dean. ‘Cause I'm not gonna cheat—"

"Keep up, mom. You already have, and the way I see it? When you’re with him, you’re cheating on me—you're mine!"

"No, I'm not. Never going to. Not that way. Are you so delusional you can’t see what’s happening here?"

“Are _you_?”

"Dean, this is an illness. This isn't right," Sam says and plops down on the bed next to Dean. God, he doesn't know how to look at his son any more without recalling what happened between them in the dead of night. But he tries. "Sweetheart, look at me, we can deal with this. Remember when we were close, real close, best friends, soulmates even, but still mom and son. Still clean. We can still go back to that, ‘cause this is what it needs to be." Sam pleads. And Dean wants to tell him, it was never like that. _It’s always been like this,_ only Sam didn't realize it.

"You know, we won't be the first alpha and omega mom and son to fall in love, Sammy," Dean begins. "It happened before and it will happen again. I know history, I've read the lore. Some even get married—”

“Great, you wanna march over to Cas and tell him I'm leaving him for you? Or shall I? You want me to abandon everything, and everyone, and be branded as a cheater and an omega whore for life? That what you want, Dean? ‘Cause I'm telling you now that’s not gonna happen!"

"Why not?"

"Why not?! Have you lost your mind? How can you even ask that? ... If we follow through—" Sam cuts himself mid sentence because he can't even fathom it. He begins again, "What becomes of your brother? Your dad, Dean? Have you thought of Cas? Have you thought how filthy and dirty I felt this morning? After last night? What we've done, what you've made me do—“

"I didn't make you do anything—”

"I was forced to—” Sam wants to say _submit_ , but it feels too primitive and it only reminds him of how perverted he is, how he can't seem to keep his legs closed when his son is around. His cheeks flare up.

"Are you saying you didn't want it?" The question, laid bare like this, has a cruel bite to it. Dean already knows the answer, but he still pushes. "Because from what I remember, you were moaning in pleasure. You orgasmed twice. Or was it three times, mom? Wanna refresh my memory?”

"Dean, stop it!"

"Unless you're saying I raped you. Is that what you’re saying?"

"God, no," Sam whispers.

"'Cause I could have thrown everything out of the window and taken what I really wanted last night. I didn't. I let  _you_ set the pace, like I always do. But you're right in this with me. So don't you dare pretend you didn't want what I gave. The blow job, the kisses, my tongue down there, everything—“

"Shhh, stop," Sam covers his ears.

Dean sighs. "I may be pushy, mom, I can play rough but we both know I didn't force myself on you. Won't ever. It's just ... not in me."

"You're right. This is on me too ... and it's going to get worse as long as you're around," Sam says it, and for the first time, it hits him, the truth of it lands. Dean doesn't just need to go to Bobby's temporarily; he needs to move out altogether. But Sam doesn't broach this now. He's too scared, and too shaken up. He'll bring it up later. But it looks like it will come down to that. Cas is right. He's always been right.

Sam's heart breaks again, if that's even possible.

“Mom, can’t you see? I’m hurting. I can’t think. I can’t sleep,” Dean says, hoping to pull on Sam’s heartstrings, draw him in using a combination of worry and guilt like he used to do when he was younger. He's aware he's being manipulative, but he can't help it; he's very much in love. And he’s not lying; he can’t live like this. “Sammy, I don’t know what to do.”

Calling him by this nickname again is a mistake, Dean realizes, because Sam’s face shifts and darkens when he hears it.

“Here’s what you'll do, now.” Sam says, with finality, getting off the bed and away from Dean. "Start packing. We’re moving in an hour. Bobby's an early riser, I'll call him.” He pauses, then adds, “And for the last time, I'm not your boyfriend or your husband, Dean, so it's mom, not Sammy. Mom's the only thing you get to call me."

When Dean stares daggers at him and doesn't respond, Sam decides to one-up his son in the pissed-off department and he throws the half-packed duffle violently at him. "Move!" Sam spits, and leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Art: snapshot from the show with a Prisma filter, my edit. No reposting please.
> 
> \- For all those who're still following this story, 19 chapters on and nearly two years in the making, I'm so grateful for you all! :-) I can't believe I'm in this far in myself. It was my first slash fic and I only decided to write it after I posted a request on SPN Kink Meme that was thoroughly ignored. When no one stepped up to fill it and fulfill my fantasies, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. I essentially started writing what I wanted to read. And now, here we are. :-)
> 
> \- Keep the feedback coming please. Your comments make my heart sing.
> 
> \- I'm on tumblr: http://joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/


	20. Between the devil and the deep blue sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up for Sam. Cas faces old demons. A certain 'baby' joins the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story (including but not limited to non-con/rape, mentions of death, sexual submission, BDSM, and emotional trauma) and will continue to get heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily triggered, please turn back now. It's not too late! Let me reiterate that I'm not warning for everything, so please read only at your own risk.

Castiel is sprawled on the living room couch, splaying the back of his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the light. His feet are in Sam's lap and his wife is giving him a foot rub.

As Sam expected, Cas woke up royally hung over and visibly in pain. It’s almost noon and save for water and some paracetamol, he’s had nothing else in him. Sam shoots him a sympathetic look every once a while.

Dean and Adam clear out before Cas wakes. He’s a little surprised when he finds out but Sam tells him he got it covered to spare him the trips. He totally foresaw that hangover.

He tells Cas how he was rudely awakened by an intensely hot flush from his heat, and decided at the drop of a hat to take Dean to Bobby’s, then drop Adam at Castiel’s parents. His heat, whose scent is evident, must be giving credence to his story.

 _S_ am skips over the part where he called everyone _at ass o’clock_ in the morning _on a Saturday_. Bobby is an early riser but Naomi was a bit surprised when Sam inconveniently buzzed her at 7 am, he recalls. In his defense, Sam was confused, overridden with guilt, at his wit’s end with Dean, and panicking. 

Castiel remains subdued. 

“You’re welcome,” Sam says, giving one of his feet a squeeze. 

“Thoughtful, Sam, but you know how much I loathe it when you go out during your heat,” Cas says, clearly not pleased.

If there’s one thing that Castiel is stringently traditional about, it’s this. He prefers Sam cooped up at home when he’s pumping slick like this, his heat a constant siren announcing his sexuality to the world. Sure, he’s mated, and only suicidal douchebags dare approach a mated omega, but still, suicidal douchebags exist. Castiel would rather have Sam stay inside and avoid coming across these creepy types all together.

“How did Dean take it?” Cas murmurs nearly through clenched teeth. His headache is blinding him, its grip vice-like. His burgeoning rut is also making him on edge, already riling him up.

“Good,” Sam says.

“Hold up, he didn’t fuss at all?”

“Well, by now, Dean knows it’s not punitive, Cas.”

“Still complains every time.”

“I guess he finally gets it,” Sam lies, keeping his expression vacuous.

In reality, Dean did actually give Sam hell on the drive to Bobby, but Castiel needn’t be told how his son foamed at the mouth and called his own mother “a coward” and “a moralising dipshit”—words that would’ve easily earned Dean a punch from Sam in the heat of the moment, if Sam hasn’t been feeling criminally guilty for harboring sexual desires for Dean to begin with.

Castiel also needn’t be told of the sickening new turn that their marriage has taken last night or how his wife spent an hour in the shower this morning under a scathingly hot spray trying to wash off the scent of another alpha so Cas wouldn’t smell it on his skin.

His husband is the last vine in the grapevine in this affair, and Sam plans to keep it this way.

“Sam, did we have sex last night?”

“What’s that?”

“Last night, did we—you know.” Cas gestures between them.

“Ehm, no. You went right to sleep after we got back.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause when I woke up, the room smelled like sex. It was reeking actually.”

Sam’s heart is beating in his chest at double its speed. He aired out the room a little when Cas was still asleep. But Sam _did_ climax a few times and Dean came on him, and alpha scents _are strong_.

“Eh, yeah, it’s ‘cause I’m—I jerked myself off. After you slept. I told you. The heat was coming on strong,” Sam says, blushing. “Multiple orgasms. That’s what you smelled, I suppose.”

“Looks like, yeah.”

“Sorry,” Sam murmurs.

“Nah, it’s hot. You getting off next to me. Who were you thinking about?” he asks playfully.

“You, of course,” Sam says, with a tight smile. “Who else?”

Cas is too good for him—still blissfully ignorant of the skeletons in the closet of Sam and Dean’s evolving relationship. It’s painful how much he’s oblivious to how his marriage to Sam has become fractured.

_And yet they had been fiercely in love with each other once._

Soon, Sam will have to break it to Castiel that his dead-fast opposition to sending Dean away is gone, and that he’s willing to discuss options. It’s safe to say that Sam’s now past the point of denial; if Cas had awoken to the display from last night, it would’ve been the end of them.

...

Sam and Cas sit in companionable silence for a couple of hours. Castiel nurses his hangover and Sam, laptop in his lap, is reading stuff online.

Sam feels restless inside—partly from his heat and being so close to his alpha, and partly from the guilt racking his brain. The wheels in his head are spinning, trying to gain a purchase on his impossible situation.

He feels disgusted with himself, and a part of him almost wishes Castiel would find out about him and Dean so he’d be sorely and grievously punished.

He deserves to be; he doesn’t have an ounce of steel in his spine or else he would’ve stopped this once and for all. Although, the idea of Dean getting into any kind of trouble over their incestuous relationship makes him feel queasy.

_Trouble? Who is Sam kidding?_

If Cas ends up knowing, he’ll divorce Sam and wring his son’s neck.

The notion sends an ugly chill down Sam’s spine.

Sam surfs the web for self-help websites, but there’s nothing much out there about healthily dealing with sexual advances from alphas within one’s family—it seems there’s a near consensus among the traditionalists that the likes of Sam are breeding holes without opinions or feelings of their own, so it’s all _obey, indulge, submit_.

If one’s already mated, it’s a different story, and traditionalists are not very forgiving of cheating omegas.

The laws are harsh too, and if an alpha decides to press charges of infidelity, these situations are dealt with in special courts with juries that are almost always pro-tradition.

Progressivists don’t pander to these types of topics anyway, being narrowly focused on rights and pushing for liberties and a place for omegas in the social sphere.

In all cases, no one looks kindly on cheaters across the spectrum so Sam’s screwed.

He wishes he had someone to talk to, outside of their situation; someone who can help Sam get his life back on to an even keel. He’s got friends, but how do you confess incest to anyone then ask for their advice? Sam will come away empty-handed, or worse, severely judged.

There’s no way around this: he let his husband down, and there are no do-overs. He’ll have to find a way to atone for cheating.

Soon enough, he puts an end to his musings, because, _dear God, he’s overheated and horny as fuck, and he needs his alpha right about now_. _Cas not Dean_ , he reminds himself, and it’s quite telling and pretty awful that he has to force the reminder.

At least on the physical intimacy front, Cas and Sam are not a lost cause. It’s not as intense as how he feels about Dean, but yeah, he can still get it up for his husband.

Right now, his loins are on fire, and the full body shudders are not letting up.

He wants to blow Cas first and drink up his release. He wants his husband’s semen to sink into his skin. He wants to soak up his scent to make up for what happened the night before, and for every wrong thing, no matter how trivial, that led to it.

He gets up, and the rush of hormones is making him sway a little on his feet. He gets on his knees and plants himself beside Cas, still lying back on the couch. Without warning, he starts fondling his husband. He’s feeling quite shameless right now. Cas groans; it’s his headache, not the touches.

“Just lay back, let me do this,” Sam whispers. “It’ll get your mind off the pain.”

Sam fumbles with Castiel’s fly and takes his cock out, and Cas’s breath catches when Sam just swallows him down in one go. “What the--” Castiel is startled at first, but his rut catches up, forcing him to get hard despite how dog-tired he is.

As his husband’s dick fills up, Sam’s pace picks too.

When Castiel is hard as wood, Sam stops for only a second to tell Cas to fuck his mouth. Cas is gentle, at first, thrusting very shallowly, so as not to hurt his wife but Sam is having none of it.

“Harder,” Sam says with a puff then takes Castiel’s dick in his mouth again.

Cas pumps hard, accidentally ramming the tip of his dick into the roof of Sam’s mouth a little too strongly, and a bolt of pain rips through his jaw but Sam won’t pussy out. His eyes water, and it gets worse when he start to gag and choke a little on his own spit, but he soldiers on.

 _This is it, this is what he wants, what he deservers_. It’s fittingly punishing, Sam thinks.

Cas sits up, gently prodding Sam’s shoulder and scrambling back, in an effort to dislodge him. “Easy, Sam. You’ll choke,” he says, and his voice is roughened up by both exhaustion and desire.

Sam can still feel him shivering every few seconds from arousal. Thanks to the deep throating, Castiel's base instincts are still very much in gear even if he’s getting worried over Sam.

So Sam doesn’t quit; he keeps on sucking, bobbing his head back and forth, taking Cas’ dick even deeper, like he wants it to clog his airway.

He does almost choke when Castiel (probably can’t help it) shoots off like a geyser. Sam can’t keep up with the hot rush of semen and starts heaving around Cas’s dick. He still tries to swallow the hot release, but he’s forced to pull off with a loud pop when he can’t. “Sorr--” he begins to apologize but instead, sputters and coughs wetly. _God, his throat is sore._

“What the hell, Sam?” Cas says, slumping back in his seat.

“Don’t worry about me,” he gasps out.

...

After Castiel freshens up and gets some chow, he wants to talk about it, see if Sam’s alright.

Cas fears Sam may have hurt himself some with that intense blowjob.

He's not wrong. Sam’s jaw does ache and his throat’s still burning, but it feels right.

He false-reassures Cas, and calls him a drama queen. Before Cas responds, Sam gets up and straddles him, right there in their kitchen, thrusts his tongue inside his mouth and starts grinding his bulge against him. “Come on, I want you inside me, Cas,” he says, his voice all desperate, almost keening. And they end up doing it on the kitchen floor.

During, Sam keeps asking his husband to give it to him rough, to bite him and leave his mark, pull his hair and make it hurt. Cas is reluctant at first, but blinded by how Sam is writhing, moaning and thrashing beneath him, he ultimately gives in.

...

After they’re done rolling in the sheets one more time, Cas asks Sam about what really is up. They’re lying side by said, tangled up in the sheets, naked underneath, covered in cum and slick, and completely worn out.

Sam is thinking about how he couldn’t get himself to squirt from his hole like he does in Dean’s arms. _And he wants to curl up and disappear for how dirty and bad it makes him feel._

“I’m not saying I don’t like roughing things up,” Cas says, “I just don’t understand where this is coming from. We’ve always been pretty vanilla.” _Because it’s what Sam wants,_ Cas thinks.

“Doesn’t hurt to spice up the sex, Cas,” Sam says, calmly, like it’s nothing, like he’s not burning hot inside with shame. _He’s a cheater and a whore, he wants to say. That’s why he needs roughing up._

“You grabbed my wrist, pushed my hand against your throat and asked me to choke you, Sam. Is that normal?” Cas asks flatly.

“Just some light choking, no big deal,” Sam croaks.

"You said I shouldn't stop until you almost pass out. Doesn't sound light to me."

“Right, so maybe not normal for us, but people do it.”

“Is that what you’ve been looking up online—you know earlier?”

_Sure, why not?_

“Yeah,” Sam lies, and it’s the umpteenth time today. “Thought we can introduce some kinks, explore a bit.”

“I don’t mind, but Sam, throttling you in bed is where I draw the line. Light or not, I’m not doing it.”

Sam rolls over towards Cas and lays his head against his husband’s chest, worming his arms around him and holding him tight. “I trust you.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s way out of my comfort zone, Sam.”

_Shame, Sam wants the pain and the crushing pressure. He wants to feel the air leave his lungs, as his heart pounds and his throat burns._

“Alright then, we can try something else,” Sam says, and he spends the next morning binge reading about the humiliating things he can let Cas do to him.

...

“I want you to rape me,” Sam says, between frantic kisses, while Cas is lying buck-naked on top of him, his hard cock poking his hips.

“Woah, what?” Cas says, pulling back.

Sam’s face burns hot but he barrels on, not avoiding Castiel’s gaze.

“Just pretend rape,” Sam says, and it sounds nasty even to his ears.

He doesn’t sugarcoat it. He tells Cas he wants to be tackled to the bed, and mounted against his will. “I want you to hit me. Hard. You can twist my arm, spit at me, slap my face. Anything you want.”

Cas pushes off of him, and there, the moment is lost. Sam can see that Cas’ erection hasn’t wilted, so perhaps it’s not the idea that’s a complete turn off, but how new this is to them. Castiel’s face is pained though, his features contorted.

“What’s going on, Sam?” He asks, exasperated.

“I told you--”

“No, I’m sorry," Cas retorts. "It just doesn’t make sense. We’ve been together for, what, 18 years? You've never wanted this before.”

“Well, I want it now.”

“You can’t just spring something like this on me while we’re already in bed together.”

“I want us to try something different. Keep things interesting, you know.”

“Yeah, but since when have you welcomed any roughhousing, Sam?”

“Since today. What, I can’t share my newfound fantasies with my own husband? Is it a crime that I wanna try something different?” Sam says and he doesn’t know whether he wants to push on or break down, and confess his sins. 

Cas breathes in deeply and it looks like he’s trying to wrap his head around this.

His wife has a point; Sam should be able to share if he wants to get off the beaten track, no matter how taboo or crazy his suggestion is, Cas reasons to himself. He just doesn’t know why he feels he’s lost his footing all of a sudden. His Sam is vanilla and also somewhat traumatized by his parents and society. Violence, in whichever form, makes him sick—that's the Sam Cas knows.

Cas can’t be blamed if he’s a bit taken aback (and maybe somewhat worried) that Sam, out of the blue, wants to be pinned down and mounted as he pretends to struggle, or worse, have the oxygen choked right out of him.

“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with speaking up. But let’s take it slowly, shall we? I wanna make sure you know what you’re getting into when you ask for something or another.”

“But Cas—”

“Sam! I’m not shaming you for wanting this, I promise. I just wanna know it’s coming from a healthy place, alright?”

Sam nods, touched by his husband’s concern and caution. Even in the heart of his rut, Castiel is still sensitive, thinking of Sam and his safety first. _Sam doesn’t deserve him._

“Alright, come here and kiss me, Romeo,” Sam says, and Cas doesn’t wait to be asked twice. He immediately seals their mouths together, then slides his tongue into Sam’s mouth, and really tastes him. He lines himself up, and pushes into Sam in one hard thrust, then he pumps away, his hips snapping.

...

Some time in the next three days, and after some coaxing and negotiations, Castiel comes around.

Sam gets tied to the bed as Cas pounds hard into him. He gets spanked raw with a wooden spoon until he’s tearful. He’s rammed against a wall, and held, as Cas fucks him with his fist, and it hurts like a motherfucker, but Sam takes it like a trooper. When it becomes too much, too humiliating, Sam reminds himself that he’s _nothing but_ _a filthy, lying whore_.

He repeats the line in his head on a loop.

With every line they cross, Cas seems to feel more encouraged, and his domineering alpha slowly comes to the surface, until finally, Cas holds nothing back and throws him on the bed, tears his clothes off and takes him roughly from behind. Sam squirms and tries to get away but Cas pins him down with his weight and rams deep into him. He gags Sam with his own torn underwear to muffle his growls and screams. _It’s perfect in how undignified it is and how much it hurts, Sam thinks._

His tears pour freely throughout the ordeal, his fist gripping the sheets like a vice, and his legs flailing. Later, it's Cas who looks a little shaken, and Sam has to assure him (in a voice made hoarse by screaming) that the tears were part of “the game", that Sam himself got carried away in their role playing.

Whatever they do, Sam often reaches climax but he always comes from his dick, never squirts. His asshole pumps slick, but that’s it. It doesn't gush like it does when his son touches him. Only Dean seems to know how to coax this maddening brand of orgasm out of him. Only Dean can make him tremble with it. It feels like another betrayal to Cas, but at least he’s trying to make it up to him in other ways, Sam tells himself.

 _No one gets to dominate him like Cas does_ , _only Cas has the green light to treat his body like this_ , Sam promises, body bruised and ego shattered. _Only Cas,_ he whispers to himself faintly as his heat wanes and as they settle down and his eyes finally flutter shut after a long day. 

 _No one gets to break him or humiliate him except Cas._ _He won’t allow it._  

….

Castiel rings the doorbell to the the upper-class Beaux-Arts townhouse in Coldwater Hills compound—the house he used to call home once upon a time.

He’s welcomed inside by Jill, a young maid working for his parents. She informs him that his sister Naomi is waiting for him in the upstairs living room.

He really hasn’t been in this area of the house for an awfully long time.

He walks up, knocks before entering, and Castiel lights up when he sees Adam sitting on Naomi’s lap.  
  
“Aw, there's my little buddy,” he says. Adam jumps off and runs into Castiel’s open arms. 

Castiel lifts up his boy, and goes to kiss Naomi hello.

They chat a bit and Naomi apologetically explains that she couldn’t follow through with Sam’s instructions on potty training. By Sam’s standards, Adam’s too far behind. By traditional standards, he’s doing OK.

“Mom kept guilt tripping me,” Naomi explains, sheepishly. “She says these things shouldn’t be rushed. That if Adam prefers being diapered until he's 5 even, we should indulge the boy. You know mom.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas says. “I know how difficult this little one can get. He’s very reluctant to potty train and we’ve been pulling our hair trying to make it happen. Well, more Sam than me. But yeah, it’s hard.”

“It’s hard,” Adam repeats, like he’s part of the conversation. “Is hard for me too, daddy.”

Both Naomi and Cas laugh.

“I bet it is, buddy," Cas says.

“Alright, let me change his diapers and then you’re ready to go. I packed everything up after you called,” says Naomi. “Adam, wanna come with?”

“Yeah,” the boy says nodding.

“Perfect. Thanks, sis.”

“And oh, poppa wants to see you before you take off. He’s in his study with Hael. They’re talking business. Give them five, ten minutes tops, and they’ll be done.”

Castiel’s stomach does a backflip, and he swallows audibly. He was hoping this would be a quick in-and-out.

“Sure, yeah. You go ahead, Naomi,” he says, sighing.

Naomi takes Adam away and instead of waiting in the living room, Cas decides to venture out.

His old bedroom is on the same floor. He imagines it’s where Dean will set camp if he moves here.

Castiel walks up to it, feeling a little strange and out of place in his childhood home. He turns the doorknob experimentally and it’s not locked. He takes one step in, flips on the light switch, and looks around the room—it’s a time capsule of his childhood, immaculately preserved since he moved out.

He’s got time to kill so he walks inside, and scans the framed family photos on the wall. He stops at one with him and his four siblings, crammed into the frame, and his right hand comes up, about to touch ...

"Reliving the great old days?"

Castiel tosses over his shoulders. It's his brother Lucian, as savagely handsome as ever, leaning against the door frame, plastering on that signature lawyer-smile, the one that never reaches his eyes.

"I wouldn't go as far as calling them great," Cas responds, with a smirk.

“Oh, Cassie.”

Cas does them both a favor and blows past his brother’s use of that silly childhood nickname. Lucian, 10 years his senior, probably still sees him as the shaggy-haired little boy whom he helped put in line. So Cas lets it slide, and pulls up his guard instead.

"What can I say? We’re not the Huxtables,” Castiel says. _Or they are, with a lot of disciplining and browbeating._ “We’ve had some good times. Some _very_ bad times.”

The last words are said with an edge, but it looks like Lucian is willing to push past it.

There was a time when Castiel had looked up to his big brother, even followed him around everywhere and hung on to his every word. But that time is more than long gone. Outside of the few family gatherings that Cas has showed up to over the years, they rarely ever talk. The two brothers haven’t been in the same room for at least a couple of years, now.

Their relationship has been chilly ever since Cas eloped.

He fell out of favor with almost everyone back then, he remembers. Cas managed to rebuild his relationship with his mom and Naomi, to an extent, but only years later.

Cas and his other brothers—Hael and Michael—remained distant too. He and his dad has somewhat of a cold war going on, but that preceded Sam. Their personalities always clashed.

"There's been some rumblings. Your boy is moving up here?"

"I haven't decided yet," Cas responds firmly. "Dean’s moving out. Perhaps he'll come here, perhaps I’ll let him board at St. Apollo, or any of the other ivy schools."

"Didn't think that it would ever come to that, that you'd even consider having your kid here. I mean you bolted at the first chance you got."

"Yeah, well, things change. We grow older. We see things in new light." Cas speaks the words with a small smile, but there's tension there.

He feels weird discussing this with his brother, as estranged as they are, when he still hasn’t had the chance to break it to Sam, or warn Dean this is in the cards. He knows Lucian is not encroaching, per se, but it sure as hell feels like it at the moment.

“Does this new light shine on your relationship with pop as well? Or is this part still in the dark?”

Lucian calls him _pop_ , Naomi and Hael call him poppa, Castiel just calls him father; always had.

“What are you talking about, Lucian? I talk to father all the time.”

“You call those clipped phone conversations every few weeks talking? Brother, I’ve been in courtrooms that were less formal. Same goes for how you treat us all, if I’m being honest.”

“Be that as it may, Lucian, it’s as good as it gets for us. Your _pop_ tossed me out on my ass. And you practically locked the door behind me—”

“ _You_ chose to leave us, brother. Besides, I seem to remember a few choice phrases coming out of your mouth the night you left.”

“You’re even more in denial than I remember,” Cas says, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s not angling for a fight at all. “He may have been a good father to you, Lucian. Still is. But all he’s done for me is set the land speed record for messed up childhoods!”

“Don’t be overdramatic, Cassie.”

Cas desperately wants to correct him. Tell him it’s _Cas_. Cassie practically doesn’t exist anymore. _Besides, it’s patronizing as hell_. But he decides to save this conversation for later. They’re already getting off on the wrong foot.

“Look, Lucian. Point is, don’t expect father and I to bury the hatchet and hug it out any time soon. We have a complicated relationship, always did, but ... at least now we’re dealing.”

“So Dean,” Lucian says, backpedaling. “Is he on board with this?”

“He doesn’t have much of a say if Sam and I decide it’s the right idea.”

"I see." A pause. "Does this mean you and your omega have reverted?"

"Reverted?" Castiel asks incredulously, his face momentarily losing its forced cool.

"You know what I mean, Cassie."

"I don't, actually,” he says stubbornly, and to his ears, he sounds like Dean.

“That so? Because, to me, it looks like you’re having some sort of an about face.”

“Lucian. First off, it’s Sam, not _my omega_. He’s my partner, not my slave,” Cas says, shoulders tensing despite knowing that referring to omegas plainly by their sexual gender is only un-PC in his circles. In the seedy underbelly of traditionalism, Sam would actually be referred to as _his bitch_.

“Noted,” Lucian says cooly. If there’s any hint of mockery there, Castiel doesn’t sense it.

“Second off, he and I? We’re still the same people we've always been. Nothing's changed on that front. Won’t ever."

"So you do know what I mean," Lucian says with a smile that is neither fond nor unkind.

"Hey, you wanna wake sleeping dogs?" Cas says, shooting him a harsh look. They’ve learned to carefully dance around their differences over the years. Cas doesn’t think they should stop now. Lucian seems to be on board because he backs off a notch.

"Alright, chill,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

"You didn't,” Castiel huffs, not wanting to give Lucian the satisfaction of seeing him agitated, but feeling he just did nonetheless. “Just please, don't assume things from here on.”

"Sure, brother. Whatever you say," Lucian says, one side of his lips quirking, at least half-amused at Castiel's growing chagrin, and _it's quite typical of Lucian_ , Castiel thinks. He’s the only one who knows exactly which buttons to push. Cas wants to tell him to grow up, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s 10.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, as long as you don't mind our lifestyle, we won't mind yours. If Dean moves under this roof, however, it’s pop’s house rules all the way and nothing else.”

“I'm aware.”

Instead of letting the conversation drag on, Cas opens a connecting door and moves to the adjoining room. It used to belong to Naomi, but when their brother Hael moved out with his wife to a multi-million-dollar maisonette, she lay claim to his room—more spacious and opens up to a large, luminous terrace—and now hers is empty.

Of his four siblings, Lucian and Naomi are the ones who remained here - Lucian by choice (he divides his time between the family house and a private penthouse that he owns in the city), and Naomi because she's not allowed to leave until she's married off—if she ever is. In traditional families, alpha girls are still married off, and their fates are, more or less, decided by the head of the household.

Knowing his mother, she will most probably remove the bed from Naomi's old room, refurbish it and give it to Dean too. Connected like this, Castiel’s and Naomi’s old rooms will feel like a separate apartment. That is, if Dean ends up moving here, as per Plan B.

 _Or is it Plan A?_ Castiel doesn’t have the faintest idea. He’ll have to talk to Sam first.

His attention shifts back to the ridiculously large rooms and they make Castiel feel uneasy: Dean's move from their modest house, and his relatively small bedroom, to Cas's childhood home—a seven-bed sprawling townhouse with dark interiors, arched doorways, custom-designed furniture and a small flock of live-in housekeepers can prove to be more than a little unsettling.

Castiel lived here. He knows how it feels: jarringly lavish, never warm or inviting. Suffocating. Foreign. Ridden with rules. The luxurious veneer more punishing than comforting.

The traditional alpha-omega-specific habits, and the underlying sexism therein, are the cherry on top.

If their situation were different, he'd never let his older son touch this over-the-top lifestyle with a 10-foot pole. But Dean could use a firm hand. Besides, Sam and Cas’ well-baked plans for Dean, in line with their choices and philosophy, have been set askew ever since Dean turned full alpha and showed, in actions and sometimes in words, that he wanted something different.

He heard Lucian stepping up behind him.

“You broke with tradition, kept us out of your life for years, rebuffed all our efforts to go back to what we were before, even after pop took you back,” Lucian starts again, _reciting Castiel’s greatest hits_ like he’s keeping a running tally.

It seems that Lucian’s never going to let him live this down and he has the gall to call _him_ overdramatic. Cas doesn’t even know why his brother is doggedly dwelling on the past right now. It seems they’re going in circles.

He zips it, however, and patiently waits for the crescendo.

“I don’t even know what the inside of your house looks like, Cas,” Lucian barrels on. “But trust me, if Dean ever makes the move here, he’ll be looked after. We’re still family, you know.”

His brother’s voice is casual, but his gait is formal. His hands are tucked in his front pants pockets, shoulders straight, like a lawyer negotiating a deal. He fixes Castiel with a steady look, and for a second, Cas feels like the “baby brother” again, _Cassie_ , his big brother looming large over him, boring holes in his brain, and sifting through his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Cas answers succinctly. He doesn’t need any reassurances from Lucian.

For all their differences, Castiel knows that his mother loves him, and, on some level, the rest of his family does care for him; they’d never hurt Dean, not on purpose at least. He wouldn’t have considered moving him up here for a second if it were any other way. In fact—and it saddens him to say it—his son will probably warm up to their ways.

“Anyway, I’ll go check on dad and Hael. See if they’re done,” Castiel says, and pushes past his brother. “Nice talk.”

When he’s out in the hallway and away from Lucian, he finally feels he can breathe again.

…..

Cas would like to grease the wheels with his father.

For Dean moving up here to ever work out (with Cas slipping in some of his and Sam’s rules too), he’ll have to be as agreeable as he can in the next juncture.

Heading towards his dad’s study, Castiel tries to will his posture into becoming less defensive. His shoulders are kinda stiff so he relaxes them, and he stretches his neck to relieve the tightness at its base. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. _He can do this._ He won’t get vexed and won’t argue.

...

He and Hael brush shoulders as Cas moves into his father’s study, as cold and unnerving as ever. The brothers nod towards each other and reluctantly stop for a few seconds to observe the niceties.

“Castiel.”

“Hael.”

“I trust you’re well.”

“All good. You?”

“Can’t complain,” Hael responds, with a polite smile.

“Great,” says Cas, returning it.

“Sorry, I gotta run. See you around, Cas.”

“Take care then. Send my regards to your family.”

“And mine to yours, please.”

His father, as imposing as ever, is at his large mahogany desk, still looking over some scattered papers, his reading glasses perched low on his nose and tilted.

Castiel clears his throat to get his attention.

“Father,” he says.

“Sit down, Castiel,” Henry says without so much as a glance in his direction.

Castiel takes a seat, and waits for him to finish reading. Of all his brothers, physically Cas looks like his father the most. They’re both six-feet tall, solidly built, with raven black hair—though his father’s has morphed to silver as he aged—and those signature piercing blue eyes. The ironic thing is that they couldn’t be more further apart as people.

Castiel’s worrying his lips between his teeth when his father finally puts aside the papers and takes his glasses off, his eyes moving to Castiel’s face and boring into him.

“It’s good to finally see you,” his father says, his face straight, looking him up and down. Knowing his father, it could mean anything from I _don’t see you enough and it's your fault_ , to _you’re an ungrateful little shit_.

“It’s good to see you too, father,” Cas says, tilting his chin up.

He waits expectantly for his father to say something, but he doesn’t.

“Ehm, Naomi mentioned you wanted to talk,” Cas says, because even these few seconds of silence are stretching his patience.

At his son’s prompt, Henry jumps straight into it, making Castiel’s head spin.

"The Lupercalia. It’s in 7 weeks. As agreed, you’ll be there with your family so I’d like to set some ground rules,” he says a little harshly.

“I’m listening, father,” Cas says.  

“The first rule: No politics. None of the ‘progressive’ talk at any of the functions. Zero tolerance, Castiel. Least of all during dinners with the other families,” Henry says. “Never slip up, and don't ever think you're too old to go over my knee, if you do.”

Castiel swallows his pride and burning desire to lash back, and nods slowly instead. The other families will probably be free to talk Alpha-omega politics all they want, even throw snide comments at his and Sam’s lifestyle if they so choose. He won’t be allowed to defend it or himself, that’s all. This is what his father is essentially saying.

But he promised himself he’d indulge Henry.

"Fair enough,” Cas says, when there’s nothing fair about it. “That can be managed, father.”

“Is Sam familiar with the event? I know his family is traditional as they come.”

“They are. But as far as I understand, the Campbells follow Pan. And it's a different ritual altogether, father. We mark it in the spring, they celebrate in the fall. We party. They go hunting, and camp in the wilderness for a few days. And it's only Alphas who're invited to take part in their Lupercalia so naturally, Sam's never been to one.”

“Hurm. The Campbells are good people. I guess sometimes, the apple does fall far from the tree.”

There are so many things Castiel wants to say to this, but he bites his tongue and chooses the path of least resistance.

“I don’t know about that, father. Sam doesn’t have very fond memories of them.”

“Anyway,” his father says, waving a hand. “Here's something else you should do: help him get familiar with the practice, Faunus, the feast ... so he knows what to expect.”

“Neither of us observe these things,” Cas says. “But I imagine Sam would enjoy reading about the folklore-part anyway. I'll get him a book or something. Do you mind if I borrow one from your library?”

Henry takes a moment to come to grips with this, before moving past it, unlocking his steady gaze from Castiel’s as he does.

“Help yourself. Moving on. We’ll be staying at the Sunset Ridge for 10 days. No kids under 16 allowed. I expect you to be there for all ten,” Henry says.

Sunset Ridge is their estate up in Telluride. A sight for sore eyes. Really, it steals one’s words away. Lying within 40 acres of land on a private peninsula. Surrounded by mountains and overlooks a few ponds. Sullied by awful memories.

Castiel hates it.

“But father, there's Adam, and I can’t be away from work for that long. I just got promoted, and I don’t think I should—”

“—Castiel!” Henry says, his voice raised. “Son, let me make it clear, in case you misunderstood what's going on here. This wasn’t a suggestion, and this is not a negotiation. You just got handed down a rule. And I’m not a big fan of disobedience. This is your son’s first Lupercalia as an Alpha Winchester. We’ll do this right. So, put your affairs in order and make it happen. Show some respect.”

“Yes, father,” Cas says, his lips pursed. _See, totally agreeable. Not vexed at all._ He meets his father’s eyes though, without flinching.

Pushing his advantage, his father continues: “You’ll be present for all meals at the main table. No shutting yourself out. On the eve of the Lupercalia, we’ll dine at Samuel Colt’s. This year he’s hosting. Don and Maggie Stark’s son is also an alpha coming of age. He’ll be celebrated too. We’ll be joined by the Braedens. The Talbots. The Vanderbilts. Samhain and a couple of his omegas. His wife can’t make it. Bobby Singer of course, and Caleb too. Father Delaney and Jim Murphy. Cain and Collete Mullen. And oh, Lilith and Alastair.”

Mostly old money families like them. And incidentally, a collection of Castiel’s least favorite people on the planet, except for Bobby and Pastor Jim. He knows his father is proud of Dean—or rather, proud of officially adding another alpha to the family tree. Still, Henry _is_ emphasising the importance of this mainly for his son’s sake, but Castiel is already dreading the Lupercalia, and all the small confrontations and big discomforts it can bring.

His father proceeds, “On the day itself, there will be a grand feast at Blue Earth Church and more families will join. You remember your first Lupercalia? It means something to us.”

“Right,” Castiel huffs.

“Optics are of grave importance at events like this, Castiel. I expect your wife to look the part.”

_And here it comes._

“I’m sorry I don’t follow. Look the part?” Castiel says, his defenses coming up and it shows in his tone. “Look the part how?”

“The least he can do is _not_ look like an alpha that smells like an omega,” Henry barks at him. Sam has always been a sore spot for his father. “Not in your realm, but some people get offended by this.”

_Sam will murder Cas, and then bury his lifeless body at the foot of those beautiful Telluride mountains, if he ever goes along with this._

“What, you want Sam to wear a dress? We both know that’s not gonna happen, father.”

People dress up for the Lupercalia and the gender differences are usually very pronounced in the dress code, almost vulgarly so. But Cas won’t push this on Sam. 

“Omega dress robes or a kilt will do,” Henry says dismissively.

“Tall order,” Castiel blurts.

Henry stares daggers at him, his eyes darkening. Castiel takes a deep breath. He tries not to let this—his father, the atmosphere, the talk—get under his skin. “Look, father, I can promise to run it by him, and see how he feels. It’s his decision after all,” Cas says, and he chooses the last words deliberately. He knows he’s rubbing it in.

“I'm sure I don't care for your tone,” Henry says.

“No disrespect, father. I’ll suit up. But I can’t force my wife into anything. It’s not how we do things in _my_ household. If he doesn’t want to abide by the traditionalist dress code, I can’t make him.”

As far as Cas is concerned, the bargaining scope is not wide when it comes to this issue.

“Can’t or wont’?”

“Can’t, won’t. Both, either. Does it make a difference?”

Henry shakes his head, and looks away.

He's displeased, but he's _not_ exploding in his face. And Castiel will grant him this; it looks like his father is actively restraining himself too. Castiel respects that he’s trying, struggling even, to put up with their differences and to make this as civilized as possible.

Sometimes his father is a typical knothead, and sometimes, like now, he’s patient enough that Cas can almost, almost forget he has a few omega mistresses on the side and that he used to be a member of an elite S&M Alpha-Omega club as a younger man … one that incidentally, Lucian (he hears) is a regular at.

“Will he at least be on suppressants? We don’t need him distracting people.”

By _distracting_ , his father means _tempting_ , and by _tempting_ , he means _asking for it_ , as some alpha douchebags think omega men always are.

When they’re pounding alcohol and feasting, alphas’ hands can wander, and their judgement can get clouded. Especially during the Lupercalia. It’s like spring break for alpha-omega adults. The lavish parties can turn lewd, and some people exhibit and scene without shame, and though Castiel doesn’t plan to be part of any of this being so far removed from this lifestyle, he won’t be able to control his surroundings at all times.

At the Lupercalia, they’ll be neck-deep in the armpit of traditionalism. Castiel attended only one but it’s still etched in his memory.

“I don’t like him being on suppressants, but I think Sam won’t mind if it’s absolutely necessary. … You think it is?” Cas is now genuinely asking, getting a little perturbed.

“We’re not barbarians. You’ll be around some of the best in this country. I don’t have to explain the ABCs of who we are, and who we know, to my own son. No one would dare make any serious advances towards your omega, but omega scents are quite strong, enticing, even intoxicating and yours is a man, so it’s double the trouble. Use your imagination a little. The scent may invite some touches, some words. People will be happy, drinking each other under the table. Most families there are very open. Expect some propositions to share your wife, even.”

“That’s outrageous—”

“The fainter the scent, the more you’ll be at peace. That’s all I’m saying. I don’t like suppressants either. They’re against nature. I'd suggest using a collar, or public reclaiming, but I know you're a snowflake. So here we are. … I’ll leave this to you to sort out.”

So basically, Cas is being simultaneously asked to put his wife in a skirt to flaunt his omega, _while_ keeping his scent smothered in order to fend off the voyeuring drunken pervs and the sexual deviants “among the best people in this country.” Either this or he’s left with the revoltingly embarrassing option of mounting Sam somewhere public in front of strangers, family and friends as a preemptive measure, or wait, collaring him like cattle _._

 _Such a lovely culture_ , Cas thinks sarcastically. _He can hardly wait for all the festivities to begin._

After a beat, Castiel slants a look in his father’s direction. His father is resting his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled, giving him his time to mull this over, and Castiel thinks perhaps this specific forewarning is his father actually accommodating him and Sam. He’s obviously trying to spare them the unwanted attention, and he thinks that being blunt about it like this will ease Castiel in, or at least give him a heads up.

If he wasn't so uncomfortable, Cas might even appreciate the gesture. _In another life, maybe._

“I’ll talk to Sam about the pills.”

“You see to it, then. Questions?”

There’s no way Cas can broach the idea of bringing Dean here, right now ( _frankly, he’s not even sure he wants to anymore. He’ll have to scope out all the possibilities first_ ), so he just shakes his head.

“No. Thank you, father.”

“Great. Tell Dean he should come visit his grandpa more often,” he says gruffly.

“I will,” Cas responds, standing up.

“Take care, now,” Henry says, and he’s already popping open his laptop, and it lands like a _Dismissed_ on Castiel’s ears.

Well, it still went better than he thought it would.

They had a conversation of sorts. It wasn't all one sided—sure, the bar is low, but this is him and his father. Therefore, all things considered, this wasn't entirely disastrous.

Castiel hurries out and goes looking for Naomi. He wants to fetch Adam so that they can be on their way.

When he does, he’s out of his childhood home along with his son as quick as he can. He feels like he wants to take some time to recover from the two short but strenuous conversations he's had with his father and sibling before he sees Sam again, so he swings by the nearest grease pit, orders burgers and fries with Adam and just kicks back.

He soaks up the neighborly feel of the place, and how down-to-Earth and noisy it is, compared to where he just came from.

Since Dean is coming back home tonight, Cas orders some pie to go before he settles the check—a sort of a peace offering to his son.

Then Castiel drives them back to Sam, to normalcy, to the familiar. They’ll watch Netflix together, Castiel thinks, and when the kids are asleep, they’ll slip out of their clothes, go to bed and cuddle. Everything will be alright with the world again.

….

_A few days later ..._

Dean is turning 16 in less than two weeks.

Cas and Sam want to buy Dean a car for his birthday—well, Cas more than Sam. The latter is still nervous about Dean driving so he’s not as enthusiastic.

Cas calls Dean into their living room and sits him down to discuss it. He can't just spring a gift like this on his son without getting his opinion, not with Dean being the car enthusiast that he is.

“I was going to surprise you but I thought I better not. You’re not a kid anymore. So the least I can do is let you choose your wheels. You gotta have a say … Besides, you’ve been quite unpredictable lately with your likes and dislikes. So better leave this in your hands. But nothing too expensive, De. I’m on a budget here.”

“Awesome, dad. I’ve got something in mind, actually. It’s at Uncle Bobby’s.”

“You’ve got an eye on something _in a scrap yard_? What, a piece of junk?”

“Dad, it’s _anything but_ piece of junk, trust me. Let me show you, please.”

“Alright, how about we swing by tomorrow?”

So they do.

...

When they’re at Bobby’s the next day, and Dean shows him, it's clearly not what Cas expects to see. It’s a dented 1967 Chevy Impala. Black. Leather seats. Hard top. The kinda car a bad boy would drive (and eventually crash).

Cas quirks an eyebrow and gives his son an _Are you kidding me?_ look. Dean responds with a shit-eating grin.

Cas circles it, inspecting it, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt.

It’s in great shape, a beast of a car, and it’s got attitude like his son. But Cas is on a budget, _not_ a shoe-string budget. He can afford something more high-end for his son, certainly something better than a car manufactured at least three decades before Dean was born. Besides, it doesn't look like a daily driver and Cas is pretty sure no insurance company is going to cover a teenager driving it.

“Dean, are you sure about this?”

“100 percent.”

“Dean’s right on the money. It’s a Rottweiler of a muscle car, Castiel,” Bobby says.

“It’s on a league of its own, dad!” Dean barges in, and it’s been a while since Cas had seen his son this hopped up—he’s eyeballing the Impala like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“It’s the kinda car that when people stop next to at the light, they lock their doors,” Bobby says. “Wait and see how she looks when I bang out the dents and give her a spit shine.”

Castiel doesn’t doubt that if anyone can restore this monster of a car to its mint condition, it’s Bobby.

Bobby opens up the hood. “390 four barrel, 385 horses. A little TLC and this thing is cherry,” he says.

“The standard is 275 hp, but Uncle Bobby upgraded the horsepower quite a bit with an engine rebuild,” Dean explains.

“Added a disc brake kit to the front wheels too, brand new suspension …”

“He also retrofitted a power rack and pinion,” Dean cuts in again, filling in the gaps.

“Six inch travel, so top of the line,” Bobby says. At Castiel’s blank expression, he elaborates, “We’re looking at smoother, more responsive steering here. Better maneuverability.”

“Oh. And a new $2,000 AC system,” Dean says with a wink.

“It’s sealed off well, too. So you won’t have to worry about venting coming through the doors,” Bobby adds.

Bobby and Dean continue their back-and-forth, giving Cas a run down of the car’s specs, fuel efficiency, all the upgrades, including an updated alarm system apparently. In short, the whole nine.

Castiel only understands half of it. But he’s impressed with how his son seems to know the vehicle inside out. In one of his past lives, Dean must have been a mechanic or something.

Cas is also surprised at how much Bobby has invested in the car to begin with. It’s like he used the original chassis as a skeleton to build on, and turned it into this beautiful, powerful thing.

Dean calls it a “work of art”. Cas wouldn’t go that far, but it is indeed a labor of love.

“Top speed?”

“98 to 100,” Bobby shoots back.

“Not bad for a car this old," Cas says.

“And it’s not just in theory, I gave it a trial run,” Dean says excitedly. “Goes from 0 to 100 in five seconds. Dad, you can chase demons with this baby. It’s probably 40 but goddamn, it’s still badass.”

“Not helping the decision-making, Dean,” Cas says. “I don’t want you ever going over 60 mph. And that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, with a smile.

“Also, you better watch your language around me, young man.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Castiel is barely covering a smirk. He knows he’s being petty. It’s not like Dean doesn’t say worse things in front of him. Dean seems to know it too, and it’s why he’s giving him cheek.

Castiel just stares at the car for an extra minute. Honestly, Cas was thinking along the lines of a Toyota Prius, a Subaru, a Chevy Cruze or even a used Buick LaCrosse. Safe choices all of them. He wanted something fitted with some new technologies that can help them avoid accidents—a modern, decent car with blind spot monitoring, automatic braking and the ability to set speed restrictions. Something more suitable for a hot-blooded teen like Dean so he and his mom won't have to endure panic attacks every time he's out and about.

But it looks like his son is only interested in this passion purchase, and Castiel did make him a promise. Whatever _he_ likes as long as the price is not over board. And it’s not, by a wide margin.

Besides, it’s not perfect, but with all the numerous upgrades, conversions and the brand new parts, Cas gotta admit it looks reliable.

 _Man, Sam won’t be happy about this._ Cas is married to the alpha-iest omega in town. _Multiple Helicopter-Parent-of-the-Year award winner._ He’ll probably tear him a new one when he knows about this monster of a muscle car - upgrades or not.

When it comes to their sons, Sam can be quite picky ... and pretty scary.

“So?” Dean asks.

“Final verdict?” Bobby says.

“Let’s do it.”

“Yeah!” Dean and Bobby say together.

Dean gives Bobby’s fist a bump and after a moment’s hesitation, hugs Castiel. It’s very brief, their chests barely touching, and Castiel wonders if his son feels uncomfortable being close to him, because it feels like it sometimes.

It’s partly Castiel’s making; they’re used to spending days without any meaningful contact.

Castiel takes Bobby aside to discuss payment, but the man won’t have it. He refuses the very idea of taking a penny from Cas.

“Argh, you’re a fool if I ever saw one. I’m not taking your money.”

“Bobby, don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’m paying.”

“Look, I meant to give it to Dean anyway. But only after talking to you, of course. I pimped her up for him. Besides, the boy already worked on this car plenty.”

“Be that as it may, it’s my gift to him. It’s his 16th. That’s big, Bobby. He’s not gonna come of age everyday. I gotta at least chip in, you know,” Castiel says, and really, the cost is nothing to him. It’s probably less than half of what he’d planned to pay for a brand new teen-friendly car.

"Pick him something else, then. Besides the Impala.”

“Bobby, come on—”

“Tell you what? He doesn’t even have to know it’s from me.”

“Well, that’s not fair.”

“Cas, for all I know the car’s always been Dean’s. D’you know the kid named her already?”

“That so? What does he call it?”

“Hey, don’t let him catch you speaking of her like some inanimate thing. It’s a _her_ , and it’s Baby according to Dean.”

“ _Baby_?” Castiel huffs a laugh. “Wow! Frankly, I thought he was a little too infatuated. Didn’t realise he went ahead and fell in love.”

“You see the way he fawns over her?”

Castiel laughs because he did, and what he’s seen? It edges on being lust.

“Yeah, like he wants to marry the thing and have her babies,” Castiel jokes.

“Idjit,” Bobby says, and he means Dean. It’s very fond.

Cas is suddenly reminded that Bobby sort of considers himself a second father to Dean. He really is always happy to step up and take care of him when Sam’s in heat. And he’s always been patient and very kind to his boy.

He can understand where it all comes from. Bobby had quite a rough upbringing and he lost his wife to cancer a few years back. No siblings. No children. Aside from his dogs and a couple of friends, Bobby doesn’t have anyone besides Castiel’s family.

They’re not even family by blood, he’s sort of an “honorary relative” who was taken in by Henry Winchester’s cousin Charles.

Charles had unofficially adopted him when Bobby Singer’s old man, who was working on Charles’ ranch, shot himself. Bobby was a young teenager at the time.

“Family doesn’t end in blood, boy,” Charles had told Bobby back then.

Ever since, he’d been considered part of the family, a “third cousin” of sorts who’s always been around, always present at big family functions. He’d inherited a sum of money when Charles had died, but his wife’s illness had exhausted most of the funds.

If gifting the car to Dean means this much to Bobby, perhaps Cas should make him a part of it.

...

In the end, Cas and Bobby agree to split the cost 50-50. Cas, of course, doesn’t forget to tell Dean that the gift’s from Bobby too. Dean thanks them both profusely.

They go for a test drive. Dean can’t wait to get behind the wheels apparently and try it out with his father. Cas has to admit that he’s excited too. The car is huge and intimidating, and a little eccentric for a teen, but it’s smooth. The seats are comfortable, and it looks like the engine rumble is music to Dean’s ears.

They’ll have to add an iPod jack though. Castiel can’t imagine Dean listening to cassette tapes. When Cas suggests it, Dean grimaces, however.

“It’s not necessary, dad.”

“But who listens to tapes now?”

“Well, maybe I should start. I listen to classic rock bands. Bet I can find their cassettes on ebay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Really, you’d do that?”

“Sure. I mean we’re supposed to take care of this sweetheart, not douche her up.”

Cas barks out laughing. _Yup, the boy’s in love alright_.

“Fair enough. Your car, your rules, Dean.”

“Hell yeah!”

They can’t drive it back home yet. There’s still minor repair work left (Bobby will hammer out those dents too). There’s paperwork, and Bobby still has to transfer the title and registration to Dean.

On their way back to Bobby’s yard, however, Dean is squirming in his seat, and Cas can tell that the kid wants to go faster. A moment later, he does ask Castiel if he can pump up the speed a little and show him what the car’s got.

“Sure, why not?” Cas sighs, defeated by Dean’s own rendition of puppy eyes—something he inherited from Sam.

His son lights up like a Christmas tree as they gain speed; his eyes full of so much fire. Riding shotgun beside his son, Cas feels like he’s finally bonding with Dean. It’s their moment. Just a father and his son shooting down the road.

Cas realizes that he’ll have to sully Dean’s happiness soon by talking about switching schools and moving out. It sends a cold chill to his heart, and Castiel almost wants to change his mind about it.

He wishes things were different; that they’ve had more of _this_ , and less butting heads and arguing. Definitely less attitude, and territorial marking. He wishes the alphas in them would chill some, and stop rearing their heads at every turn.

In the end, Castiel knows giving Dean a chance to find himself and explore a different lifestyle is the right thing. He could use some disciplining too and if there’s anything that Ivy schools, or his father’s rules, can supply in abundance, it’s discipline.

At least it’s what Castiel tells himself. It’s the alternative version of the other reality: that Dean is changing into something that Castiel is afraid he can’t control. That he feels threatened, on a deeper, primal level, and he needs Dean to back off. That Dean is clinging to his mother, and Cas can’t find a better, less invasive way to stop it.

Castiel banishes this train of thought before it wears him down, and forces himself to come back to the moment.

As much as it will pain him to see Dean leave, it’s inevitable.

So he’ll just have to enjoy this as it lasts.

 

                                                                       

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not Beta'd yet, and I'll review it again in a couple of days (when I've had some distance from it), so I might re-publish the chapter if the edits/changes/corrections end up being substantial (but I doubt they will be).
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one. As always, I'd love to get your feedback. Much love x


	21. - Artists wanted -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calling for artists ...

Fellow AO3ers - I'd like to commission digital artwork for this fic (paid commissions of course, with credit). If you're interested, please kindly email a link to your art portfolio or a sample of your work to joanna.lee.ao3@gmail.com (or leave a comment with your email / website here and I'll definitely be in touch).

If you know someone who might be interested, please let them know about this. I'd be truly grateful. 

Thank you very much! Hope you're enjoying the ride so far. ;-)

Much love,

Joanna xx

\---- 

 **Update:** The brilliant [Vongue](https://vongue.deviantart.com/) and the incredibly talented [emilue](https://emilue.deviantart.com/) (previously "jarpadalecki" on Deviant Art), very kindly, gave me permission to use their SPN digital artwork with my fics on AO3 and on [my tumblr](http://joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/). I love their Wincest art so much, so this is pretty awesome news. 

p.s. I'm still looking to commission original art tailored to Family Secrets, and A Return to Love. If you know anyone, or if you're interested yourself, holler at me xx

\----

 **Sam W. photo manip/art** (above) **:** My edit [snapshot from the show with PS CS6 edits + edited royalty-free backdrop]. Please don't repost/reuse without credit and a link back to me.


	22. Out of the frying pan ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This new chapter is dedicated to Madison a.k.a. BDB4Life :-) Happy reading, girl, and my deepest apologies it took a while to update (I'm quite bummed I didn't give you a birthday update). But the good news is, at 11,600 words, this chapter is my longest update yet. Enjoy, and let me know what you think when you're done.
> 
> Ohmymultiplegods, there's something in here for you too! Hope you like ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking age in this world is between 16 and 18, depending on country/state.

Dean and Sam are on talking terms again, enjoying some respite from the endless push-and-pull and hot-and-cold cycles that ritualistically follow every sexual encounter they have.

It’s Sam who goes out on a limb to make things work again after his son returns from ‘exile at Bobby’s’ as Dean calls it.

His son has such a pull on him that Sam feels sick to his stomach whenever they’re on bad terms. He knows like he knows that he can’t give Dean what he wants, and that they keep going in circles—but he also knows (it has been proven time and again) that there’s nothing Dean would do that Sam won’t or can’t forgive.

So Sam makes amends: he makes Dean burgers for dinner two nights in a row, and is generous with the onions, bakes him an apple pie, plus little things here and there. He also doesn’t tear him a new hole for purchasing a classic car like the Impala instead of something safer and more teen-friendly.

Of course, he does go berserk behind Dean’s back, and verbally flogs Castiel over the choice of birthday present. Castiel’s excuse was that he faltered under the pressure of Dean’s own rendition of the “puppy eyes” (“He got that from you,” Cas complained. And Sam rewarded him with one of his finest bitch faces).

But Sam, in the end, does begrudgingly accept the ‘67 Chevy Impala as part of their family (a car which Dean not just loves, but apparently, endearingly calls “Baby” according to Castiel.)

Finally, Sam decides there’s no way around approaching Dean and hitting the nail on the head.

He knocks on his son’s door one afternoon and Dean lets him in … reluctantly, if his stiff shoulders and lukewarm demeanour are anything to go by. After unlocking the door, Dean goes back to bed, lying down on his side and giving Sam his back.

“Can I talk you for a second?”

“No one’s stopping you, mom.”

“What I mean is _we_ need to talk, De. I need you to look at me.”

There’s a pause before Dean turns on his back, but still avoids meeting Sam’s eyes.

“What about?” he asks.

“Everything. Look, I _really_ hate it when we’re fighting,” Sam says, and he really, really can’t take it, especially that Dean’s birthday weekend is coming up. It’s his 16th, a rite of passage of sorts, and he doesn’t want them to have to mark this occasion when they’re distant and cold to each other. Besides, he really wants Dean back. He misses him.

Dean remains stubbornly tight lipped for a minute before he relents and speaks.

“I hate it too,” Dean whispers. “But I don’t see an end in sight as long as—” Dean lets the sentence trail off into the unknown.

“Dean, last time—” Sam says, then pauses to breathe. He sighs deeply. He really doesn’t want to go there.

He finds that he’s still standing nearer to the door, so he crosses the distance between him and his son, and plops down on the bed beside Dean. He needs to feel close to Dean as he speaks the next words, “last time, we crossed so many lines that we shouldn’t have crossed. I should’ve stopped you but I didn’t. It’s on me too. And I feel guilty as hell. Your father doesn’t deserve this, Dean. He loves me. He loves _us_. It’s a betrayal of not just his trust, but his unconditional love. Something tells me you must realize this as well as I do.”

Dean stays silent and Sam can’t read his reactions (His son has the best poker face. He can’t tell if he’s making headway and Dean is finally relenting, or if Dean is still being stubborn).

Sam presses on. “I don’t want to fight you on this every other day, Dean. I need you to understand. Your feelings, they’re very much shared. You’re right. I was in denial. But we can’t keep going back to each other, or go at each other like this every time things don’t work. And they won’t ever. Not the way you—or I—want them to.”

“Mom—”

“—No, Dean, listen—we, uh, we don’t have a shot, sweetheart. And I’m sorry.”

Dean frowns but remains tight-lipped. Sam can’t help raking his eyes across his son’s body; Dean has grown so quickly recently.

His eyes keep flitting, stopping at Dean’s broad chest first then his lean torso and finally, toned thighs and what lies between them. Dean’s shirt is riding up and his thin sweatpants are not leaving much to the imagination and Sam can’t help but notice that Dean is becoming thicker everywhere, hairier too, especially below his navel and around his groin. The contours of Dean’s pectoral muscles are evident even when he’s donning a shirt. Alphas usually grow bigger, quickly, once they hit puberty, but goddamn, his son is a stud.

Sam feasts his eyes for a bit, gulping audibly, and hopes Dean doesn’t realise he’s ogling.

Dean still avoids Sam’s eyes anyway when he finally speaks. “You usually love talking things to death, mom, but this ... You get scared or confused or whatever, and bam, I get sent away to Bobby’s for days without getting a word in. It all happens so fast my head spins. Do you realize how fucked up this is? And man, do I hate going away feeling like this,” he says, then adds in a vulnerable whisper, “I hate how you make me feel.”

“Sorry, Dean. It is what it is,” Sam responds with a sense of finality and he’s not just referring to those times when his son has to get far away from Sam’s heat but to the future move Sam now knows he and Cas must take—Dean moving out altogether and parting with this family for a while.

But Sam doesn’t bring this up now. He won’t, not right before Dean’s birthday. He doesn’t want to sully it for Dean. Perhaps he’ll even wait until after the Lupercalia. He wants his son to remember both occasions fondly. 

They stay silent for a moment. Dean continues to stare down, picking threads off his clothes, and Sam looks at his own hands, lying idly in his lap—each avoiding looking straight at the other.

Sam huffs a breath and straightens his back as he lies down on his son’s relatively small bed, and stretches out his long limbs.

They barely fit and now they’re squished together shoulder to shoulder. Sam’s face is next to Dean’s with their heads lying on the same pillow, almost touching … close enough to turn to each other and make out or make love.

Sam takes it up a notch by putting an arm around his son and gently hauling Dean closer.

Dean goes with it, shifting to his side and laying his head on Sam’s chest. Sam wraps both arms around him, trying to get even closer. This is familiar, Sam thinks. And he likes it. He misses being able to touch and kiss his son without worrying about getting carried away or taking it too far. He wants to worm his way into that place again, and enjoy his son as long as he’s around — which won’t be for long once the decision to send him away to a boarding school is made.

“The Impala, huh?” Sam says, still holding Dean. 

A slow smile starts building on Dean’s face, lightly smothered against Sam’s soft chest, and Sam’s own face floods with color at how close Dean’s lips are to a nipple, almost brushing against it as he speaks.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

Sam can’t help rolling his eyes, but admittedly, he’s more amused than annoyed.

"You have to actually shift the gears, De."

"If it's not stick, it's not driving."

“Whatever, Dean. I don’t want you speeding with this thing,” says Sam, squeezing Dean’s shoulders, touching his lips to Dean’s forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

Castiel tried to assuage Sam’s worries by insisting that Dean’s got great skills in the driving department. But that’s exactly what Sam is afraid of: that Dean might be tempted to show off his exceptional driving skills, especially with a powerful muscle car like the Impala. Dean is a fearless yet brash and cocksure young alpha, and someone might throw down the gauntlet and challenge Dean to an amateur race. Knowing his son, he’d surely pick it up.

“It’s not a thing, mom. I told you, she’s got a name. And I wish you’d let me show you what Baby can do,” says Dean, unknowingly confirming Sam’s every fear.

“I think I’ll pass. If I see what—erm, _Baby—is_ capable of, I might hide the keys from you for good. Or hog the wheel, and drive us everywhere myself.”

“As if I’d let you get behind my wheels,” says Dean, a laugh bubbling out of him.

“And why wouldn’t you?” Sam says, brows unfurling and shooting up

“Baby needs special treatment. Your driving—”

“—Don’t even say it. My driving is impeccable, Dean Winchester!”

“You ride the brakes—

“I do not!”

"You'll probably ride the clutch too in a stick-shift—"

"Speculation—"

“—you _always_ put your turn signal on at the last minute, and don’t get me started on tailgaiting.”

“Lies!”

“I’m just saying. Baby is too precious.”

“Well, if that’s not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

"What, you jealous, Sammy? Don’t worry. She _is_ something else. But you’re still my number one.”

Sam doesn’t scold him for using his nickname again. But there’s a slight shift in the energy when Dean utters those words as teasing as they are meant to be.

Dean looks up at his mom and their faces are so close now, their noses are almost touching. Dean’s eyes are soft, and his cupid’s bow lips are slightly parted. Staring down at Dean, Sam is suddenly hyper aware of his own heartbeats. His mouth is becoming moist.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean says, eyes glossing over, voice raspy and low, and the hand lying on Sam’s chest clenches briefly around Sam’s soft pec, as if copping a feel. Sam reflexively thrusts out his chest and his nipples stiffen and tingle as a response to the heat from his son’s touch. He’s not wearing a bra (he rarely does inside the house these days) and he can feel the warmth emanating off Dean's skin through the fabric of his shirt.

Sam swallows and nods, giving his consent, eyes not leaving Dean’s.

His son presses in and his lips are creamy-soft when they touch Sam’s, and Sam can’t help leaning into the kiss. Their mouths fit together perfectly. It feels right, and suddenly, all what Sam had been doing with Cas—the extra rough sex, and the pain experimentation—now feel like the real betrayal. If it were up to him, even the right of punishment would be Dean’s, as his own body should be.

Dean tips his chin up, and slowly drags his lips over Sam’s. Then he opens his mouth only slightly and catches Sam’s bottom lip between his, suckling lightly before letting it pop free.

To Sam’s surprise, the kiss remains closed mouth yet painfully sweet. It also doesn’t linger as long as he’d like it to, though he’s quite sure he would’ve popped wood if it had. When Dean pulls back quicker than expected and rests his head against Sam’s chest, Sam’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips and taste his son there.

Dean’s hand—the one that’s not tucked underneath him—runs slowly across Sam’s chest and his thumb brushes lightly over one of Sam’s perky nipples but then that’s it. His hand stills and just rests there (warm and heavy) over Sam’s breast.

Dean is breathing heavily, and so is Sam—fingers aching and lips tingling, nerve endings stirring and the restraint leaving his body almost trembling with desire.

Dean shivers once and his hand squeezes Sam’s breast (probably impulsively), then his son shifts slightly and his hand goes down to hold on to Sam’s waist instead. They remain still for a few moments, chests heaving.

When Sam looks down, Dean is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but his breath is coming under control. His son doesn’t initiate anything else. 

Sam, flooded with warmth, hugs Dean tighter and kisses the top of his son’s head. “Are we good?” He finally asks.

“Yeah, we’re alright,” Dean croaks from where he’s buried in Sam’s embrace.

….

Castiel can't be around for Dean's 16th birthday party. 

Sam's nostrils flare, his jaw clenches in anger as Cas breaks the news to him. He exclaims "unbelievable" as his husband explains how he was forced to sign up for a week-long work trip that coincides with Dean's birthday. He tries to ease the brunt by promising a compromise: to take them all out for dinner and cake as a family once he's back. "Think of it this way: Dean will have two birthday celebrations not just one," Cas says, aiming to wipe the scowl off Sam's face, but fails miserably. 

“Sam, I just can’t skip this one,” Castiel adds, shoulders sagging.

Cas sounds miserable and for a split second, Sam feels horrible about pressing this, but he has this nauseous fear that something bad will happen if Cas is not around.

Castiel’s presence in the house calms him these days, and it’s a perpetual reminder of who he belongs to, especially ever since they started experimenting with pain play in the bedroom. Whenever Sam feels a flare up of guilt or a surge of panic, or desire for Dean, he seeks out his husband to ground him — whether it’s a spanking or edging or some wax play (they once experimented with urethral fingering and it was torturous and every bit as relieving as Sam wanted), whatever the ‘punishment’ of the day is, it seems to put Sam’s mind at ease.

“Can’t someone else go, Cas?” Sam persists. “It’s Dean’s birthday weekend we’re talking about here. And _I need you_ ,” he adds, hoping that Castiel will get it without Sam having to be explicit about what that _need_ is in front of Adam who’s nestled between them on the living room couch playing Clumsy Ninja on Dean’s iPad, as they continue to argue.

“I’m already taking a break for 10 friggin’ days for the Lupercalia, so no, I can’t blow off this assignment. Sam, please understand.”

“I’m sorry if I don’t exactly appreciate the fact that we’re bending over backwards to accommodate your father and his unreasonable requests. Requests that are forcing you to accept an assignment that happens to be in conflict with a big event like your oldest son’s 16th birthday … which, in my books, happens to be more important than an archaic coming-of-age celebration, Cas.”

“Please don’t make this about my father. We can’t skip Dean’s first Lupercalia and we both know it. Whatever the protocol is Sam, we’ll have to abide by it. As inconvenient as it is, it just so happens that my father is hosting this, and yes that means he does have an exclusive on the rules. I thought we already went over this.”

“Not like I had any choice in the matter.”

“To be fair, Sam, I told you that you can do whatever the—” Cas is about to swear then he remembers that there are little perky ears sitting between them, so he swallows the profanity and continues “—whatever you want with everything else. But the dates and the duration are non-negotiable.”

“So are the dresses and the suppressants, and being around traditional, sexist, wrinkly old men with grabby hands 24/7,” Sam blurts out, knowing that he’s being very unfair, especially that the bad company is not something that Cas can control anyway, it comes with the package.

As well, Cas had told him that he should wear a kilt only if he’s comfortable, and that he doesn’t prefer pumping suppressants into Sam for a couple of weeks just to be able to get by — that they can always find a way around it and that he’ll just have to stick to Castiel’s side and no one will dare touch him then, not without Castiel’s permission and consent (neither of which will ever be granted).

But right now, Sam is feeling a mix of disappointment, panic and anger and Castiel is the only target around, so … “It’s interesting how your father refuses to fork over control after years of emotional abuse and neglect and is happy to start barking orders the first chance he gets like you haven’t even left his house. And now, we’re all bending over at his say so. Did it occur to you that I might not even want to come to the Lupercalia to begin this?”

“Then don’t, Sam. Honestly? I don’t care what you do anymore.”

“What? And break my son’s heart? Unlike you, I care about how Dean feels,” Sam shoots back, all worked up, and seething.

“Listen to yourself. Are you hormonal or something, Sam? Getting a second heat this month?”

“Oh, go to hell, Cas,” Sam says and he instantly regrets talking to his husband like this, considering … everything, really.

Cas facepalms, and it should be Sam’s cue to ease the pressure and shut up but he doesn’t. When Sam begins again, Castiel sighs heavily, pushes himself off the couch and cuts him off. “You know what, Sam? I’ve been tripping over my feet trying to please you lately but nothing ever works,” says Cas, and it’s the closest thing to an admission of their marital problems that Cas has uttered. “I had a terribly long day and I don’t have time to listen to you prattle on about this. You seem to be in a foul mood and I wish I could humor you. But honestly, I don’t have the energy. Let’s talk again when you’ve wrapped your head around this.”

 _How condescending_ , Sam thinks, and any compassion for his husband is now gone.

“Apparently, there’s nothing to talk about, Cas. You’ve made your decision.”

“Unfortunately, I have,” says Cas and he leans down to place a kiss on top of Adam’s head and leaves Sam to stew in his own juice.

….

Cas and Sam spend the rest of the day in awkward silence, each waiting for the other person to speak first. But neither do. At night, in their bed, they give their backs to one another, and put as much space between them as they can.

The next day, they only exchange a few comments that completely fail to break the tension.

But then Sam, exhausted and not wanting to drag this longer with Cas, just lets his anger blow over, and has a proper sit down with his husband.

He’s glad he does, because it really makes him realize how much Cas is both burned out, _and_ bummed for missing Dean’s birthday himself—Sam is guilty of misreading how his husband has been feeling about all this.

Soon after, Cas is back to his normal self, promising Sam over and over that he’ll make it up to them, especially Dean.

Dean isn’t thrilled himself when he’s made aware that his father won’t be around for his big day, but he eases a little when they go pick up the Impala from Bobby’s garage. Dean drives them half way back home (because, no license yet) and Sam rides shotgun; he gets to experience, as Dean calls it, the “thing of beauty” that’s the Impala. Sam is surprised that face-to-face, he actually likes the car—or more like, he can understand why Dean’s fascinated with it. The Impala does have this classic charm.

They all end up having dinner together, and Sam bakes Dean another pie — this time a cream-filled one. (It’s Dean’s week so by default it’s also pie-week).

Castiel takes off the next day, four days before Dean’s birthday weekend, leaving behind a teary-eyed, anxious Sam.

….

Dean has long decided that he wanted a small home celebration, inviting only around 10 buddies, some of which will stay overnight throughout the entire weekend (the chosen three are Benny, Ash and Charlie).

Dean rarely ever has friends over so Sam is excited for him, and he quickly gets into super-mom mode, getting all his ducks in a row, and drawing up a list of all the things they’ll need ahead of the party.

Sam will bake at home: a big cake, and three pies: apple, cherry and pecan. The finger foods, he’ll order in (Ellen says she knows a good catering place). The weather is mild enough for an outdoor barbecue so they’ll have hot food as well. He’ll stock on crisps and munchies too. They won’t need an entertainer; Ash will be their DJ (apparently, he’s good at that), but they’ll need to rent speakers and a mixer.

“What about booze, mom?” Dean says, leaning on the kitchen counter with a notepad as Sam is washing the dishes, and dictating a shopping list to Dean.

“You’re not drinking, Dean.”

”What the hell, mom?”

”Just hear me out. We’ll have a civilized get-together. Don’t forget that we’re inviting Bobby, Fergus and Meg, Ellen, Jo, ehm, your grandparents, and your aunt Naomi. Coach Hendrickson and his wife. So you need to be on your best behavior.”

“You’re kidding, right? It’s not a party for a 10-year-old, mom. I’m turning 16. It’s not illegal. And I’m definitely not going teetotal in _my_ party. ‘Sides, grandma and grandpa won’t come. They never do."

“They very well might, Dean. This year’s different.”

“Right, even if they do, doesn’t change a thing. I’m sure they won’t mind either way. We’re all grown ups. In fact, if it were up to Benny, we’d have a beer pong party. If I don’t bring nothing, I can promise you people will smuggle stuff in,” Dean says, putting down the notepad, approaching Sam and plastering himself to his mom’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist like an octopus.

Dean brings his voice down a notch, laying on the charm thick, and adds: “But since it’s here, and I love you and I want everything out in the open, we’ll make it civilised, exactly like you want, and just stick to beer and punch. We don’t even have to hire a bar. How does that sound?”

“As if I’d let you hire a bar for your 16th,” Sam says, squirming a little with how Dean is wrapped around him. He just can’t be 100% comfortable with these displays of affection anymore because it’s like rubbing salt into a festering wound. Despite his fidgeting, Dean doesn’t ease off his hold on him.

"Come on, beautiful, say yes."

"Ha! You think flattery will get you what you want?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure it will," Dean says, and plants a kiss on his shoulder.

“Ok, Dean, alright!” says Sam, huffing a sigh. As if he can deny Dean anything, with how he’s wrapped around his little finger. “We can keep things above board and allow liquor. But I’ll have to double check with your dad first.”

“Oh come on, Sammy.”

“Told you, it’s mom,” Sam says, remembering the boundaries he once set, while scraping a dish a little too furiously. He also remembers their kiss a few days back, and how frisky it made him feel.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, _mom_ ,” he says with emphasis, sarcasm lacing his voice.

“Dean, if your dad green-lights this, you still can’t get drunk. Same goes for your buddies.”

“First off, even if we do get a little drunk, you can’t embarrass me in front of my friends. I’m not a kid anymore. Second, booze is non-negotiable so make sure you hash this out with dad. Besides, they’ll be slightly older people. Not all my friends are 16, you know.”

“Right, the boxing class crowd,” says Sam remembering.

“Yup, and an older friend from school too.”

“Hey, what about Ash. He can’t drink. He’s still 15, right?”

“Then I’ll make sure Ash sticks to Diet Coke.”

Sam’s shoulders’ sag. He can’t win with Dean these days. “Fine, you can have beer and some light cocktails,” Sam says, as he turns off the water tap, and turns around in Dean’s arms to face him and pull back from the embrace a little, so that they’re not glued together (Sam is always aware of where they’re touching). “I’ll handle it with your dad. I can whip up a few, you know, sherry cobbler, spiked Arnold Palmer and variations. I bet you know a few recipes yourself. We’re not going to pretend you haven’t been sneaking drinks behind my back.”

“I actually don’t know any. But I know someone who’s really good at mixing drinks.”

The mention of this “someone” reminds Dean of something he needs to give his mom a heads up about, considering their history.

“There’s one other thing,” Dean adds. He pulls Sam to him again and buries his face in the crook of Sam’s neck, like a child hiding from something.

Sam can feel his son’s hot breath on his skin, and tries not to let the sensation wake up other parts of him. Seriously, his brain needs to be rewired to register these simple gestures as what they are: natural intimacy between a son and his mother, and nothing more. His hormones are haywire for some reason; picking up on every little thing related to Dean and reacting accordingly. Reminds Sam of when he was a teenager and discovering sex and his own body for the first time.

Dean stays silent for a beat, and Sam begins to worry so he hugs Dean back. One hand comes up to rest on the back of his son’s neck and he asks, “What? You’re scaring me, De.”

“Erm, remember Rhonda Hurely?” he asks, words muffled against Sam’s neck. Sam’s heart sinks. "The girl I used to, ehm, go out with?"

“Uh-huh,” Sam murmurs. Is Dean seeing her again? Is that what Dean is too scared to break to him? Will she come over and sleep in his son’s bed, perhaps fuck Dean, while Sam is under the same roof? But Dean just said he _used to_ date her. Knowing Dean, he could be bending the truth a little, or saying it like this to try and ease the blow. Has Dean been sleeping with her while stringing Sam along all this time? Taking what he wants, what he can from both, like a typical knothead.

Sam hates that he immediately feels like an ex or a jilted lover instead of Dean’s mom at the mention of this girl. It’s like everything is stacked up against Sam; somehow every single encounter or conversation or comment is a reminder that what he feels for his son can’t be shaken off that easy.

“Eh, I invited her too. I mean, I had to. After we broke it off, we stayed in contact. We’ve been talking and hanging out. We’re not back together or anything. I mean we only kinda dated for 10 minutes anyway. But she’s a friend, now. And she’s kinda helping me cope with all what’s happening between us.”

That’s when Sam’s heart jumps in his throat, and he quickly pushes Dean away and holds him at arm’s length to force him to meet his eyes. He asks, incredulous, heart pounding: “What the hell, Dean? She knows about us? You told her about what’s going on between you and me?”

“God, no! I just told her I’m in love with someone I can’t be with. An older boy,” Dean says simply, pulling away from the embrace himself. “That’s all she knows.”

Sam lets out a deep breath and his heart breaks more for Dean if that’s possible. Like him, he has to keep his feelings bottled up and it looks like he was itching to tell anyone. _In love with someone I can’t be with_. Sam feels guiltily responsible for the somber statement that has become his and his son’s reality.

It’s not bad knowing that Dean has someone to talk to. Still, he’s glad Dean didn’t overshare.

“Yeah, ok “ says Sam in a tone of great relief. “No one can know anything, De.” _No one can know Sam’s robbing the cradle_. They’d think he’s another filthy omega taking advantage of his own son (and Sam’s greatest fear is that “what if he is?”)

“Give me some credit,” Dean says.

“Right, I’m sorry. I just freaked out. There’s a lot on my mind, and I can’t think straight. I should’ve known better.”

“So, about Rhonda. You don’t mind having her around?”

“No, no, of course not,” Sam makes himself say.

“K, good,” Dean says. “She’s not sleeping over though. She’ll just be here for the party.”

“Whatever, Dean. I don’t mind either way,” Sam lies and forces a smile. Dean nods.

“So, here’s your list,” says Dean, fetching the notepad with the supplies and handing it to Sam.

“Sure, thanks.”

His son steals a quick kiss before taking the car keys out of his pocket and jingling them, telling Sam he’ll go for a ride.

“Now? Isn’t it late?”

“It’s 7:30.”

“Its night time. I’d prefer it if you go out during daylight.”

“Mom, listen to yourself,” Dean says, amused. “You gotta get used to me actually driving.”

“I only approved of the car under pressure. If it were up to me, I’d just drive you everywhere. Besides, we agreed that without a license, you can’t go too far, remember that little rule?”

“I won’t, I swear,” Dean says and he’s already moving.

“Alright, be careful. Keep it in the neighborhood. If you get caught—”

“—I won’t. I’m just going for a quick spin with Benny and Ash. They’re meeting me nearby. We’ll get ice cream and cruise around for a bit. Gotta show off my Baby,” Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows. He turns, fetches his jacket and bolts out of the kitchen.

Sam follows, but Dean doesn’t stop. “Just listen, be back in an hour alright.”

“Mom!”

“It’s an order, De.”

“Argh,” Dean groans, as he walks out of the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam shouts after him. But Dean is probably getting into the car already. A moment later, Sam hears the engine’s roar as the Impala fishtails out of the parking lot.

….

“We need more tupperware,” Sam announces at lunch the next day, as Dean wolfs down his steak.

Adam, as per the new usual, is playing with his food and barely touching the meat, despite the fact that Sam had sliced it for him into tiny pieces. Unlike most children his age (including Dean when he was that young), Adam loves vegetables and hates chicken, meat and fish.

He recently started becoming obsessed with animals, always asking his parents or Dean to find him animal videos online so he can watch them on a loop. His dislike of meat began with some harmless curiosity; Adam asking his mom and dad where it comes from. And upon getting an answer, asking fearfully if meat is essentially a dead animal.

When Sam and Cas, after negotiating whether to tell the truth or make up a creative lie, ended up saying that, yes, indeed it is, they unknowingly invited an avalanche of questions about how animals are killed to be cooked, and why, and if they feel pain and whether or not they cry when people take their lives and if the “animals’ parents or kids miss them after they’re gone.

Sam almost broke into tears at his son’s innocence and subsequent painful realisations as they enlightened him about the subject, watching helplessly as the truth was reflected heartbreakingly on his baby’s adorable face.

It’s easily one of the most difficult conversations he’s had with a child.

In the end, Adam decides that he wants animals to be alive and happy, and not dead on his plate, essentially swearing off meat and poultry. If Adam wasn’t so tiny and needing of nourishment, Sam would’ve probably gotten behind this. He’s proud of his son but he can’t help worrying. Being sensitive and compassionate (especially at such a young age) is a great thing but it always comes with caveats; including dealing with very harsh realities in a very broken world.

Sam can’t humor his baby boy as well because at almost four years old, Adam still needs his proteins for development.

Sam did start researching alternatives and he intends to consult a doctor about how he could feed Adam less meat while still giving him all the proper nutrition he needs. But the jury is still out on whether this is a healthy option at Adam’s age.

“What for?” asks Dean, in response to Sam’s declaration about the need for tupperware.

“We’re getting a lot of food for your party, I’m cooking a feast. But I don’t have enough containers to store the leftovers. We also need a few other things. Napkins. Centerpieces. Disposable plates and cups. I’m not doing dishes after 20 people,” Sam says. “Bottled water, too.”

“We already jotted that down on the supply list,” Dean reminds him. “I’ll add the Tupperware and the other stuff.”

“Do we need a disco ball?” asks Sam, in all seriousness, but feeling that he might already know the answer to that.

“You serious? Hell no,” exclaims Dean, glaring at his mom. 

“Alright, calm down. We’ll need extra chairs and a table for the grill in our front yard. Mulling over pitching a tent. Or you know, one of those shade canopies. We can just rent those.”

“Front yard, mom? Do you plan to smoke out the neighborhood?”

“It’s tacky, I know, but our backyard is small, Dean. We need the space. What about balloons?”

“I’m not turning 10, remember?”

“You can have balloons in a grown up party, Dean.”

“Sure, why don’t you get a bounce house too and a slip-and-slide while you’re at it? And you know what would be smashing? A clown!” says Dean in fake enthusiasm.

“Oh lord,” Sam visibly shudders. He hates’ em. “Got it! Okay. Did we write down trash bags?”

“Yup. What else, mom?”

“So yeah, trash bags. Lots of those. Oh, and an ice bucket.”

“Cool,” Dean says, feeling that his mom is going slightly over the top for a party with barely 20 people all in all. But Sam is taking the whole turning 16 rather dramatically, and Dean won’t stop him. He’s happy with the attention, if he’s honest with himself.

“If your friends are sleeping over, let’s get you a new set of PJs.”

“Right, I’d love me one of those adult onesies with buttflaps,” says Dean, wide eyed and beaming. “You know, Jumpin Jammerz?”

“Is everything a joke to you, Dean Winchester?”

“Mostly, yeah.”

Sam rolls his eyes and continues to rack his brain, but he thinks they’re all set.

“I think that’s all, De.”

“Wanna swing by the Woodcreek later and pick the stuff up?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. There’s a Walmart on the same street too. Two birds, one stone,” Sam says, then speaking to his other son, adds: “Adam, will you be a good boy and stay with Auntie Ellen while Dean and I run a few errands after lunch?”

“Don’t wanna,” Adam says, miserably.

“What’s wrong, sunshine?” Sam coos, guiltily realizing he hasn’t been paying much attention to his other boy.

“Don’t wanna eat this, mommy,” Adam says. “Can I have some of your milk please?”

“But baby, haven’t we talked about this? You’re getting old for mommy’s milk. You’re my big boy now,” Sam says, actively fighting his instinct to just pluck Adam from his chair and take him in his arms; save him the trouble of eating foods that he’s obviously not a fan of. He’s supposed to be weaning him, but it looks like he’ll go traditional on this one and let Adam nurse until he’s five or even 10; as long as he wants to.

“How about some more veggies?” asks Sam, out of motherly duty, anticipating the protesting.

“Please mommy?” Adam says, and his voice is small, and cracked, eyes wide and pleading, and Sam can’t resist.

“Alright, darling. Come here,” Sam says, opening his arms wide, and Adam nearly stumbles off his chair, and runs to into his mommy’s embrace. Sam puts him over his lap and lifts one side of his shirt up, making sure to only bare one breast, and immediately Adam buries his chin in his mommy’s chest, taking a big mouthful of his nipple and areola, latches on and he begins to suck.

Dean clears his throat, and Sam realizes that his older son is flushed and visibly uncomfortable, and by extension, it makes Sam a little uneasy too. He feels a little too exposed all of a sudden, with Adam hanging off a naked breast, and Sam’s shirt all rucked up like this and showing his belly.

“You OK, Dean? We can move to the living room,” offers Sam.

“It’s fine, mom,” Dean says, not looking up from his plate, and gulping audibly.

Sam can’t help notice that Dean sinks in his chair a little, spreading his legs, and his eyes shift from time to time to eyeball Sam’s breast hungrily, as if he’s wishing it’s his own mouth suckling Sam. It ends up being one of the most awkward breastfeeding sessions Sam's had. All through, Dean’s eyes would close a little, he’d lick his lips or chew on his lower lip making Sam feel wet and naked.

By the time Adam's done and dozing off, Sam’s skin is tingling with the attention from Dean, his own eyes are half-lidded, and he’s semi-hard between his legs. Frankly, he wants to be rolling in bed with his older son right now instead of pretending everything's normal.

Dean probably feels the same; his son adjusts himself down there, before pushing the chair back and leaving the table, practically running out of the kitchen.

“I’ll quickly hop in the shower before we head out,” he calls out as he climbs the stairs to the upper floor, and Sam is sure it’s code for “I’ll have a quick jerk in the bathroom”.

And honestly, Sam might just end up doing the same.

….

Dean feels cornered. He once had total control over his mom, and could swing him this way or that with a look or a word or a small action, but now he feels that he’s the one being manipulated.

Sammy, refusing to give him what he wants unless Dean snatches it forcefully, has brought them to this rut: where they’re neither mother and son (not exactly) nor lovers.

Following Sam’s last heat, Dean initially felt like he had planted a flag and had meant to persist, give his mother the silent treatment until he submits completely, until Dean can flip him over any time and fuck his ass and make him come all over himself, but so far his small plan hasn’t been working.

He has a blind spot for Sammy. His mom is being sweet, Dean was missing him and soon Dean found himself back in his arms again — though still unable to have him.

Besides, how could Dean stay mad when Sammy is so adorably eager to please? Busting his back setting up his birthday, and pampering him with lots and lots of pie all week.

On their way to the mall, they make a stop at Walmart and stock on all the things they need. The mall, Woodcreek, is mobbed, and by the time they are done placing their orders at the party rentals store and making it across the mall to where the sleepwear shop is, it’s well after 5 PM.

But at least, they’re both relaxed now, having bought all the essentials.

The nightwear store is huge, catering to men, women and there’s a big section for male omegas, selling everything from silk and satin PJs and robes to delicate nighties and frilly babydolls and various types of omega-fitted lingerie. Sam goes straight to the men’s section, bypassing the omega racks and mannequins without even a side glance. Dean, of course, doesn’t let it slide.

“Mom, slow down, it’s not like the omega rack will attack you,” Dean says, sarcastically.  

“I just need to get this out of the way, De. Your brother must be getting grumpy by now,” says Sam.

“Nah, he’s probably sleeping, or cuddled up with Jo. He loves her.”

“Well, I sure do hope you're right and that he’s not pulling a tantrum as we speak,” Sam says.

“Wanna phone in and make sure everything's alright? You know, put your heart at ease?”

“It’s fine, Dean. I don’t wanna bug Ellen.”

“Then relax, mom, and let’s have fun with this, alright? Wanna buy matching jammies?” he asks playfully, and it coaxes a smile out of his mom.

“Come here,” Dean adds, and he takes one of his mom’s hands and laces their fingers together, rubbing his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand to help him unwind. “Just breathe for me, alright?” Sam inhales deeply.

“Thanks,” Sammy says, inhaling again and squeezing his son’s hands. Dean is like a drug, Sam thinks.

They stroll leisurely through the men’s section, sifting through the merchandise, still holding hands like a couple, when they’re approached by a young but stout sales assistant with ginger hair, and nerdy thick-rimmed glasses. “Hi there, how may I help you today? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Yes, please. I’m thinking a bathrobe for me, nothing too fancy though, and Dean here is looking for PJs,” Sam explains, with a polite smile.

The sales assistant’s eyes flit quickly to Sam’s chest. Sam’s bra is slightly outlined under the shirt he’s wearing (he’s only donning a jacket with a shirt underneath it), and Sam knows this look too well (it’s why he’s not a big fan of shopping for clothes). It’s that look that Sam gets when the other person is trying to work out where Sam fits on the alpha-omega spectrum, considering his clothing is very manly. The store assistant seems to make up his mind quickly, though.

“If you’ll come with me, we have a wide selection of bathrobes, and morning gowns at our omega section. We have hooded and regular bathrobes, in a variety of fabrics; cotton, velvet, cashmere or if you’re looking for something more delicate, we have silk kimonos, wonderfully soft, and lace dressing gowns,” he says, with a fake smile, as he starts leading the way back towards the omega section.

Sam begrudgingly follows but his nose flares in anger. Just as he’s about to school the assistant for assuming that being an omega means he’s automatically interested in the fluffy, feminine stuff, Dean squeezes the hand tucked in his and says, “Sure, show us what you’ve got.”

“Dean,” Sam protests, unbelieving, and Dean gives him this heated look, all dominance and control, and strangely, it shuts Sam up, albeit begrudgingly. 

He’s practically being dragged back to the omega section by Dean, and as much as he wants to pull his hand away and run in the other direction, he doesn’t.

The store assistant proceeds to showcase the different styles, and Sam is barely looking. Dean takes over completely and starts giving his opinion, coaxing Sam to take interest. Finally, Sam looks and he votes down all the super feminine stuff in favor of a classic, cotton bathrobe. White, straightforward, not exactly masculine with a bit of silk lacing its collar, but neutral enough. They settle on it, and Dean doesn’t look exactly satisfied.

“Can we also look at some silk gowns?” supplies Dean.

“Dean, do we have to?”

“Got nothing to lose, Sammy,” Dean says, and the nickname flusters Sam; it’s like Dean is challenging him.

To make it worse, Dean brings their interlaced fingers to his mouth, and places a kiss there. He probably wants the store assistant to think they’re a couple or something. The age difference is significant, but it’s not unheard of for young alphas to date older betas or omegas, or do whatever the hell they want for that matter, Sam thinks. He should rectify this, and make some reference to them being mother and son, but he doesn’t want to embarass Dean.

He also hates to confesses that he gets all tingly when Dean takes control like this; he can’t stop it.

“Sure, this way please,” says the assistant, with a smile. He leads them to another rack full of silks and frills. Dean has his eye on this short little thing; a black satin dressing robe lined with lace, that will probably ride up and leave Sam’s butt hanging out. It’s totally inappropriate and Sam cheeks heat up just imagining himself donning it.

“Feel the texture. See how soft it is?” says the assistant, proud of the number like he’d sewn it himself or something.

“No way, Dean.”

Dean kisses Sam’s cheek and says, “Shh, you’ll look perfect in it,” and it’s just above a whisper, spoken so close to his ear. It’s like Dean and his alpha pheromones are nuzzling him with those words.

“Would you like to try it on?” asks the assistant.

“Yes!” “No!” say Dean and Sam simultaneously.

“He’ll try it on,” confirms Dean, with an air of finality. 

Sam, who’s clearly tense, might as well be invisible, because the sales assistant blurts out “of course” and points them towards the fitting room with the offending item in hand. His son is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

To make it all worse, Dean joins Sam inside the fitting room, and sure, it’s big enough to fit both of them and three other people. It’s also empty save for a wooden stool. But Sam is not sure that taking his clothes off in front of the son he can’t keep his eyes or mind or hands off is a brilliant idea.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”

“I wanna see you wear something nice for a change.”

 _More like ogle my naked bits_ , Sam thinks.

“I’m not comfortable with this, De."

“Just humor me. Know what? Consider it a birthday gift,” says Dean, batting his eyelids.

“You already got one, Dean,” says Sam, and he’s thinking of the Impala. But he’s already snatching the damn thing out of Dean’s hand. “Fine, just turn around,” he growls.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

“I don’t care, Dean. You either look the other way, or I’m walking right out.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Dean says and gives his back to his mom.

Sam strips out of his clothes and his skin gets covered with goosebumps as the cool air meets his naked skin. He’s wearing a non-padded full-bust cotton brassiere and even Sam has to admit that it’s unattractive and in quite contrast to the silky thing he’s trying on right now, so he takes it off.

He does keep his underwear on to maintain some dignity, because he’s sure the short number won’t do much to hide his dangly bits and his behind. He slips his arms into the sleeves of the robes and folds it around him, and God, does the sumptuous fabric feel nice, softly hugging his frame and caressing his skin.

He takes a quick look in the mirror and suddenly, his hairy legs, lanky figure and wide shoulders stand out more when he’s donning this. He turns around, and his butt cheeks are peeking out, covered in the grey cotton of a pair of plain-looking briefs. Sam doubts he looks attractive at all. He feels out of his comfort zone, awkward and weird. Too damn naked, too. He ties the robe snugly so it doesn’t slide open, and spins around. He clears his throat and tells Dean he can look now.

Already on the horny side of things, Dean’s nether regions stir once his eyes land on Sammy. The robes are barely hiding his modesty, and under the harsh fitting room lights, they’re a little see through.

His mom’s erect nipples are poking through, and Sammy is blushing prettily, biting on his lower lip when he meets Dean’s gaze. He looks down quickly to try and avoid Dean’s eyes, in obvious embarrassment. And the whole sight is rather obscene.

Sam’s own stomach does a flip at the way Dean is staring at him. In a hoarse, small voice, he asks if Dean is done looking.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be, mom,” he says, and he takes a couple of steps closer until Sam’s barely a feet away.

One of Dean’s hands come up, and he starts caressing the skin right above the front folds of the robes, dipping into the deep V and teasing at the hidden treasure underneath. “You look so pretty, mom.”

“Dean, we can’t,” Sam pleads in a whisper. “I’ve done what you wanted, you’ve had a look. Let’s just stop here.”

“Don’t wanna,” says Dean, and he takes another step forward and now their bodies are almost touching. He slips his hands inside the robes and grabs Sam’s breasts and starts teasing his engorged, sensitive nipples, and Sam almost jumps at the intrusion. Dean brings his lips closer to his mom’s, not kissing, just hovering, breathing the same air, his eyes seeking his mom’s. “Best pair of tits I’ve ever seen.”

“Dean,” whispers Sam, and their lips are almost brushing. 

“Gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous,” says Dean, and he opens the flap of the robe to reveal a tit. He stares at it, his eyes half lidded with lust, then he bends forward and takes the tip into his mouth, and starts suckling.

His fingers toy freely with the free nipple, squeezing lightly and tugging. Sam moans wantonly despite his shame. He _really, really_ wants Dean, and in this moment, he can’t bring himself to care about anything else—least of all the fact that they’re in a public place, with a thin curtain separating them from anyone else who could walk into the fitting room area right now.

Dean’s mouth travels upwards licking its way up to Sam’s lips. He locks his mouth over them, his tongue darting out to invade and conquer.

Sam opens up to him, and Dean licks inside his mouth, and sucks on his tongue, until Sam’s knees almost give, and his slick starts pumping between his legs. He parts his thighs a little, and Dean wedges himself in between—his own hard-on rubbing against Sam’s, one hand still squeezing a boob possessively and the other now grabbing Sam’s hair.

“Is everything alright in there? Do you need any further assistance,” comes the sales assistant’s voice from behind the curtain, and it almost feels he’s in the same room, witnessing this. He is practically is in the same space, except that he can’t see, but Sam fears that he can perhaps smell their arousal.

Dean’s lips are still glued to his, and for a scary few seconds Sam heart pounds violently as he thinks that Dean might just continue eating at his lips and ignore the assistant altogether. God forbid, the assistant might just pull back the curtain, and peek inside to check and ends up seeing them like this: chest to chest, embracing and making out passionately, with Sam’s soft, spit-slick tits spilling out of his robes, and his juices leaking between his spread thighs.

The sound of their smooching is already too loud, Sam thinks.

Dean disengages for a second, lips popping, and Sam’s face is flushed with both shame and desire.

“Everything’s peachy,” Dean says, breathless from the kiss. He unknots Sam’s robes and opens the flaps. “Do you mind getting my boyfriend a couple of panties to try on with this?”

“Any particular fabric or style in mind?” asks the assistant.

“Let me think,” Dean says, pretending to think.

Sam can’t tell if the man’s already figured out what’s happening or not. Dean, meanwhile, is keeping up the conversation like everything is normal, like he’s not grabbing his mother’s waist in a vice-like grip and rutting dirtily against his groin as he talks to the assistant.

“Hmm, just choose something sexy,” says Dean, one hand circling around Sam’s waist and without preamble, sliding underneath the robes and the waistband of Sam’s briefs all at once. He runs a finger down the spread of Sam’s ass. “Surprise us,” he adds, as he roughly thrusts his finger up Sam’s asshole, without warning, making his mommy whimper audibly.

Sam’s head falls back, resting on the wall behind him and he tries to breath through the intrusion, lips wet and parted, and arms coming up to hug Dean to him.

If the sales assistant didn’t know what they were doing before, he most probably knows now with all the desperate moans and groans Sam can’t keep in.

Shortly after the assistant’s gone, Sam hears the click of heels on ceramic as someone new enters the dressing room area and approaches, and it eerily feels like they’re gonna get walked on. The insistent steps bypass their room, however, and Sam can hear the curtain being drawn in the fitting room right next to them — another customer slipping in to try something on for sure. The risk of discovery gets dialed up 10 fold. Dean keeps thrusting.

“Sammy, you’re soaking wet,” Dean whispers in his ear. “Can’t believe how good you are for me. So filthy, so fucking easy, wet all over, tits and cock bouncing as you fuck your cunt on my finger in some random fitting room, where anyone can hear or see. Best birthday present ever, by the way,” he says and he goes back to mauling Sam’s mouth.

Sam moans like a whore, bearing down, sucking Dean’s finger in—his warm slick dripping and soaking it.

“I think that I may have just the item for you,” says the assistant a minute or so later from behind the curtain. Sam shudders when he hears his voice; still can’t believe how close the man is to them while they’re doing _this._

Dean slips another finger inside Sam’s hole and starts pushing in and out more roughly, his mouth pulling away from Sam’s. “Yeah?” he says, his voice choked. Then he leans in to whisper to Sam’s ears only, “Would you like me to invite him in to watch? I don’t mind. As long as he doesn’t touch what’s mine.” He finishes the sentence and locks their lips again.

Sam opens his eyes, and realizes, as if for the first time, that they’re surrounded by mirrors, and takes in what he looks like. His robes are wide open at the front, briefs soaked in precum, his son is rutting against his groin, sucking on his mouth like it’s a pacifier, and simultaneously fucking him with a finger. Sam can feel his rim fluttering under the assault.

This is what the man will see if he walks in: Sam, a man in his thirties, falling apart for his 16 year old lover (not knowing he's Sam's own son).

He'll see a slut. A filthy omega slut.

“Sir?” asks the assistant.

Sam quickly pulls away from the rough kiss and buries his face, red and burning in Dean’s neck, wanting to hide away from the obscene image they’re making and huffs, “no, please don’t.”

“Just reach out from behind the curtain, please, and I’ll take it from you,” Dean tells the assistant, and the man obliges. Dean reluctantly walks them backward, fingers loosely wedged inside Sam’s passage, and snatches the items from the man’s hands.

“Thanks.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Not right now. I’ll holler if we need you again.”

Dean slips his fingers out of Sam’s hole. Sam takes a step back and his body slumps against the mirrored wall behind him.

Dean takes it all in. The sweaty skin, the heaving breaths, the nakedness, and the hot mess in Sam’s briefs.

“Take your underwear off, Sammy,” Dean says, authority bleeding into his tone.

“Dean, please,” he says, biting his lip.

“Want you to try one of these on,” he says, shaking the items in his hands for emphasis. Sam’s eyes flick to them, and they’re a couple of frilly see-through girly panties, one is pink and the other is red. And despite fantasizing about wearing such things for Dean, and flaunting himself in them, he just can’t imagine doing this now; in reality, he can’t. His eyes well up with tears of humiliation, and he just looks away.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Dean says, coming closer and depositing the panties on the fitting room’s stool. He holds Sam’s chin up with one hand and forces their gazes to lock, “It’s going to be alright. Just breathe.”

Sam’s eyes fill with more tears. Dean leans forward and places a soft kiss over Sam’s lips then licks them lovingly. “Shhh,” Dean whispers against his mouth, just as he hooks his thumbs in the hem of Sam’s briefs and tugs them down slowly until they pool around his ankles. Sam gives a small whine. “It’ll be alright, I promise,” Dean says and he’s laying another kiss on Sam’s lips, then another. “Just let me do this,” Dean says between kisses, and now, Sam can’t help a single tear from falling.

Every time Sam thinks he’s hit rock bottom, he surprises himself.

Dean helps Sam step out of his briefs, picks up the red number and he slowly, torturously slips them on Sam, tucking his hard-on inside the soft fabric.

His son goes down on his knees between Sam’s thighs. And Sam can feel Dean’s warm breath on his shaft, now wrapped in the delicate lacework. Dean’s mouth ghosts over his dick for a few moments, savoring and scenting, then he starts peppering small kisses along the length of it, whispering filth in between as he palms his own erection. Sam is blushing furiously, his mouth gaping.  

“I should buy you a bra to match, something soft and girly to cup those pretty tits of yours. You gotta accept who you are Sammy.” _Kiss_. “Your boobs, your cunt, your pretty omega cock, the fact that you wanna be fucked and owned by a real alpha, someone who’ll put you in your place, and make you comfortable in your skin.” _Kiss_. “Don’t hide, Sammy.” _Kiss_. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You should never hide. Your body should always be wrapped in beautiful things, nothing rough.” _Kiss_. “Silk, satin, lace. You’re born for this, sweetheart.”

Dean gets a grip on Sam’s hips and starts mouthing over Sam’s cock, clearly enjoying the slide of the texture against his own lips and the wetness he can taste through the lace. Sam’s hips involuntarily gyrate and he grinds against Dean’s mouth.

“Keep them wet so you won’t chaff. Wanna see you cum in them,” Dean says, now tilting his head and rubbing his warm cheeks along the front of Sam’s panties, where his cock is beginning to stain the fabric.

“Dean, I’ll ruin them,” Sam says, breaths coming in deep bursts, his cock hiccuping a copious amount of precum already rendering his fears obsolete.

“Do it. Cream your panties for me, Sammy,” Dean says, lips grazing Sam’s trapped dick, and his voice vibrates against it.

Dean’s lips are spit-slick and swollen from all the kisses and the rubbing, and Sam bets his own are too. They’re throbbing and they feel hot.

“I can’t,” says Sam, voice breaking, feeling the maddening pressure against his swollen dick from the inside, pulsing and pushing more precum out of the head that has escaped its lacey confines and is now leaking against his belly.

“What? Afraid the guy will see them and know? Realize that you came all over yourself as I played with you, that he’ll see you’re mine?”

“Oh God. Dean, please, please, please don’t make me do this,” says Sam, but he’s still shamelessly rubbing his cock against Dean’s cheeks, tumbling towards his climax.

“Come on, do it. Wanna taste you through the lace.”

“Dean,” Sam says, and he’s going out of his mind, repeating Dean’s name like a prayer. He’s writhing beneath his son’s attentions, hips jackknifing and his balls drawing up. “Dean, I’ll come. Can’t--can't hold back.”

Sam’s body trembles and seizes as he finally spills into his panties from both his dick and asshole at once.

It hits him, mid orgasm, that they’re in public, that he’s doing this as people come and go outside of their curtain, and that discovery is inevitable. He’s moaning and wetting a pair of panties that he doesn’t even own, covering his thighs and Dean’s cheek with glops of his release.

Dean moves back and looks Sam up and down like he’s an artist admiring his handiwork.

When their eyes meet, something primal trembles within Sam, and he just can’t: the urge to submit to the alpha who owns his heart is too strong, he’s overcome.

So Sam pees himself ... and it's the strongest show of submission he's let anyone have.

It’s a slow trickle at first, his dick squirting urine shyly, then when he hears the soul-deep groan coming from Dean as he realizes what he's happening, Sam soaks the panties and the clean floor with his piss. As his bladder empties, what Sam’s just done finally hits him. He feels lightheaded and his vision tilts. His body goes limp and he fears he might pass out.

Dean stands up from his kneeling position and quickly catches his mom then attacks him like an animal, mouth hot and urgent, as Sam sways between consciousness and awakening.

His mouth, his face, his stomach and tits are being kissed savagely and ravaged and it feels like Sam’s being eaten alive. Dean slips his hands inside his panties and grabs Sam’s wet, semi flaccid cock painfully. He fondles and grabs and pulls hungrily, feeling everything. There isn’t a part of him that Dean doesn’t kiss, or run his hands along. Dean french kisses Sam’s navel. He sucks on his neck and collarbone. He rubs the rim of his hole and dips his fingers inside Sam’s wet passage, curling them, and forcing more slick out.

Sam’s pliant and easy like a rag doll in his son’s arms. He sobs in pleasure and he doesn’t care anymore who hears. Dean’s his alpha, and he owns him. If he wants to take him in a public square, in the light of day, as everyone watches, Sam will probably let him right now.

“I can’t believe you did this for me, you’re mine, mine, mine,” Dean says, breathlessly, between frantic kisses, now rubbing his rock hard cock against Sam’s softening member, still trapped in the now sodden fabric.

“Yours, only yours,” Sam repeats, in response.

…

Coming down from their high, Dean tells his mom not to worry about the mess they've made. He'll handle it.

When Sam finds that he can finally stand up straight, he shyly steps over the puddle of come and pee, and puts his clothes back on — save for the wet briefs. He’s red in the face with embarrassment, and can’t begin to stomach how humiliated he feels. _Somebody shoot him right about now._

His ears perk up when he hears Dean casually explaining “the accident” to the sales assistant on the other side of the curtain like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Sam pretty much wants to melt into the floorboards.

“So, we kinda got carried away and ruined the red panties,” he hears Dean says, and it sounds like his son is beaming. “We’ll pay for it, of course. We’ll also need the white cotton robe, and the black satin one, and oh, the other pair of pink panties. The one that’s not ruined.”

Outside of the fitting room, Dean gives the store assistant a wink and adds, “We’ll come back for the PJs another day.”

…

Still jacked up, Dean blows Sam while they’re driving back, and Sam can barely drive in a straight line or keep the car within the lane. So he pulls over and parks on the side of the road before he runs them both off it and until he shoots his load, then jerks Dean off hurriedly.

….

“We’re both ripe and sticky with cum. Shower with me,” Dean says when they get home. They shower together, soldered to each other from head to feet and making out passionately under the spray. Dean, rock hard and leaking, tries to fuck him under the shower. “I wanna be inside of you so bad. Wanna breed you,” he says. But Sam cries hot tears and begs him not to, tells him he’s not ready and that they’ll regret this. Dean hugs him tight and doesn’t force it. They end up frotting until they come.

...

Sam locks himself in his bedroom and bolts the door that night so that Dean wouldn’t sneak inside and try to have him again during the night. _Dean has to go_ , Sam’s mind keeps repeating on a loop. But until then, he knows this won’t stop.

Part of him blames Castiel for this, for going away and leaving him vulnerable and open. If Castiel was here, this could’ve been avoided, Sam thinks, though it feels like a big lie.

At 4 AM, he tiptoes out of his room, goes down to the kitchen, and opens a whiskey bottle from his and Castiel’s secret stash of liquor. Sam sloshes the whiskey down until he can barely stand. An hour later, as he’s lounging, he texts Cas telling him he wishes he were here ... and that he wants to be spanked. “When you’re back, I want you to bend me over your knees and punish me, Cas” writes Sam, remembering how delightful and well-deserved the painful sting was the last time they did this. He adds: “Then I want you to fuck me on all fours, giving it to me rough".  _Until he wiggles and squirms in agony, and sobs uncontrollably_ , Sam thinks, his brain in a fog. He waits for 10 minutes and when he doesn’t get a text back from Castiel, he goes up to his bed, and collapses on it.

The next day, Sam wakes up hungover to a message from Castiel reading, “Have you been bad, baby?” It takes Sam a moment to remember what this is about. Scrolling back to his own 5 AM texts, he gets the picture. But the moment is gone, so he doesn’t bother texting back. He’s definitely not in the mood for playful sexting with a husband he’s cheating on.

...

In the afternoon, Dean sits behind Sam on his bed, takes his sweatpants and shirt off and fondles him while he’s on the phone with Cas. “What’s wrong?” Castiel asks when Sam’s breathing becomes uneven and hitched.

“Uh, talking to you ... it's making me hard, Cas,” lies Sam, as Dean presses kisses over his shoulder and neck, and gropes his naked chest.

There’s a pause at the other end, and naturally, Castiel thinks Sam is feeling riled up for him. His husband seems ready to get on with the program.

“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby,” Cas says in a whisper, and Sam can hear the echo of Castiel’s steps, even through the line. Looks like he’s moving somewhere more private.

“Cas,” Sam moans weakly, as Dean’s hands slide down his torso, exploring the curve of his belly, and the hair below his navel. He runs his hands further down, and caresses the thatch of pubic hair over his cock.

“Come on, baby boy, put your hand on your dick for me,” Cas says.

As if tuned in, Dean takes Sam’s cock in his hand and gently strokes it, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, smearing the pre-cum spilling from the head with a thumb, and only removing his hand briefly when he feels that Sam is prematurely edging closer to orgasm.

Sam himself is barely able to string a few sentences together as Cas spews filth in his ear on the other end of the line, thinking he’s the one getting Sam off, thinking that these sounds of pleasure are for him. “Are you close, baby?” Cas asks, and Sam nods. Then remembering that his husband can’t see him, makes his mouth move and tells him that he’s close. From the sound of Castiel’s breathing, it looks like his husband is also bringing himself off on the other side.

Dean’s hand abandons Sam’s cock and slithers down and disappears between his legs, past his aching penis and taint, until the tip of his middle finger ghosts over Sam’s asshole. Sam breathes heavily, parts his legs and arches his back in invitation. Dean stabs his finger inside. His son uses his other hand to fondle a breast, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezing. A minute later, Dean adds another finger.

They keep at it, Dean massaging the hard lump beneath his prostate, and playing with a tit, until Sam can’t take it anymore, and starts coming untouched, moaning in abandon; Dean’s fingers drawing out every last drop of come as they continue to circle and rub his insides. Sam struggles to catch his breath. Castiel comes too on the other end of the line.

….

Dean asks Sam to wear the panties and the robes around the house for him, but he categorically refuses; Sam still pretends that the feminine lingerie is not actually in his possession, and he tries to forget about the humiliation of coming and peeing all over himself in the dressing room (Somebody had to clean after, and they must have guessed that someone came undone in the dressing room. The store assistant might have even exposed him as the culprit, as the slutty omega who has no self-control, who pisses himself in submission, in public, at the whim of his little alpha. Perhaps he pointed him out to his colleagues on the security cameras, and they all had a laugh about it).

Sam doesn’t think he’ll set foot in that store again.

…

One evening, Dean tugs down Sam’s pants and looks freely at his junk, while they’re at the kitchen table, having dinner, with Adam sitting across from them, oblivious to what’s happening right under his nose, to how Dean is pushing his mother into depravity. Sam tries to keep his breath steady all through, as Dean watches his mom chub beautifully under his eyes.

The same night, Dean leaps into the shower with him and fucks his ass cheeks, as Sam begs him not to penetrate him. Dean comes on his crack and lower back.

If they keep this up, Sam knows that they’ll end up rolling together in Sam’s marital bed sooner than later, that Dean will make on his promise and breed him, put babies in his own mother, and ruin his family, and his own future.

….

Talking has proved futile, but unfortunately, Sam currently knows no other way to curb Dean’s sexual appetite for him, so he tries again, and royally, fails again.

Following the foiled attempt at reasoning with his son, Dean and him end up cuddled together on the living room couch with Dean nursing from his breasts, drinking up his milk and sucking him, as Sam, lithe and supple, leisurely fucks himself on three of his son’s fingers, running his hands across Dean’s back and down over the mound of his butt as he does.

When they’re done, there are dark patches of drying cum spotting the couch.

Sam waits for the inevitable moment, and counts the days until he can put a stop to this near-fatal addiction.

The hard bottom line is that their days together, living under the same roof and cheating their loved ones, are numbered. Soon, Sam will have to drop the bomb.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had meant to squeeze Dean's birthday in this chapter, but it just didn't happen. The next chapter will be shorter, and will be dedicated to the birthday party and sleepover (there's drama there too, as always). And then the following one, it's finally the long-awaited Lupercalia!
> 
> Do leave your thoughts, and please let me hear from you. Always makes my day. 
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> Also, please subscribe if you want to get notifications of new chapters on your email.
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> Much love xo
> 
> \------
> 
> Separately, I wanted to reiterate this (it's from a short set of warnings from chapter 1, in case some of you missed it):
> 
> \- To avoid spoilers and because this is a super long WIP (I don't plan everything far in advance), tags will continue to be updated as the story progresses.
> 
> \- Most importantly, not all warnings are listed. When push comes to shove, I might not tag some major things to avoid spoilers. So read at your own risk!


	23. - THANK YOU -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thank you to all the wonderful fans of this fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and if you're still not aware, yesterday I posted a super long update for the story (chapter 22), so check it out, if you still haven't, and let me know your thoughts.

I just want to thank every single reader who's been following this fic for over two years now. You're patient enough when the updates are slow (or when they don't come at all), encouraging when I feel down or inadequate, and you're SO generous and constructive with your feedback, critique, comments, projections, and analysis. Thank you for your guidance!

I know the updating pace is far from ideal, but I'm struggling with so many things in the real world that make it hard for me to write regularly. That being said, I'm committed to this and my other fics, and I'm NOT going to let go. I absolutely love that most of you are understanding and sweet about this, going the distance, hanging in there and only nudging me kindly from time to time when I fall off the grid for too long. Thank you for the compassion!

Hopefully, I'll be able to escape more to AO3 in 2018, and I'll be able to deliver on new chapters much quicker.

As some of you know, this story started as a one-shot fill for an SPN Kink meme prompt that I personally placed there (and that I decided to fill when no one else picked it), and many months later, it's nearly 100,000 words and counting (and 1,900+ kudos OMG! Who would've thought?!). Honestly, I couldn't have done it without you. It's your enthusiasm, cheering and warm support that are keeping me going. 

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart, and happy new year! Love, JL.

[lovely art work by [Vongue](http://vongue.deviantart.com) who gave me permission to repost her work with credit]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you tweet, I'm @SlashPiper on Twitter, find me and let's be friends.


	24. Into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Dean ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut to celebrate 2018. // 19 JAN UPDATE: Chapter beta’d, edited, cleaned up and re-published.
> 
> Important note: Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story (including but not limited to non-con/rape, mentions of death, sexual submission, BDSM, and emotional trauma) and will continue to get heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily triggered, please turn back now. It's not too late!

Dean wakes up to a gorgeous sight: Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning towards him and caressing his cheek. The blinds are pulled wide open and the bright glow of sunlight is bouncing upon his mom's face and illuminating his dimples and hazel green eyes.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” he says in a hushed voice and leans in to peck Dean on the lips and the tip of his nose.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Dean mutters, voice groggy and throat dry.

Dean spends a few seconds finding his bearings. Somehow, Sam feels different this morning. There’s a softness in Sam’s eyes that Dean doesn’t witness so often and also a brand of sadness that seems to be buried underneath—he’s looking at Dean with longing and a sense of loss, like Dean’s going to disappear right in front of his eyes. It does feel like Dean is getting an intimate glimpse into Sam’s soul for a fleeting moment. His emotions flood him and he feels like a voyeur so he glances away.

“‘Time is it?”

“11:00. I let you sleep in all morning,” Sam says. It’s so unlike his mother.

“You alright, mom? Sure you’re not possessed or anything?”

“What can I say? I suck at discipline apparently. But hey, it looks like you needed the shut eye. I vacuumed the entire house and you still managed to sleep through it.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Ellen and Bobby are already downstairs by the way. They came in early to help me prep. Adam’s with them. Your aunt Naomi should be here in a couple of hours tops.”

Dean groans, “damn, I just wanna stay in bed.”

Juggling school work ahead of a long weekend and fooling around with his mom (getting both of them off three to four times a day for two days in a row) must have contributed to Dean’s current state of bone-deep weariness.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you in the shower so we can go downstairs and join the others.”

“Only if you’re getting in there with me,” he says, his hands rubbing up and down Sam’s arms.

“All clean and showered already. I’ve been up since 7, sweetheart,” his mom says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Then how about I get you dirty again,” says Dean huskily, and instead of protesting, Sam belts out a hearty laugh and mutters, “corny.” The sound of it fills Dean with a pleasant kind of fuzziness. Sammy needs to be laughing more often, he thinks.

“Spoilsport,” Dean huffs, pretend-offended.

"Poor you," Sam says in mock apology and gives Dean a small peck on the lips. He adds, “How about you brush your teeth first, mister? Splash some water on your face, then we can talk about making me dirty again.”

“Wait right here,” Dean says, throwing off the covers and pushing himself out of the bed. He strides across his room, through the hallway and into the bathroom, moving briskly before Sam changes his mind. “Stay where you are! Don’t you dare move,” he shouts from where he is standing, holding on to the porcelain sink.

Dean washes his face and brushes his teeth hurriedly. He’s back in his room, lightning fast, and he’s relieved to see that his mom hasn’t run away, or worse, tearing up or having second thoughts or poised to guilt-trip them both. Instead, Sam has made himself comfortable, lying back against the pillows, tangles of hair fanned out, biting his lip, knees butterflied out and the soles of his feet almost touching. He’s gazing back at Dean with hooded eyes that are flirting silently albeit embarrassingly.

Effortlessly seductive, he’s barefoot and fully clothed, donning a crisp white button down and linen slacks.  _Temptation has never come in a hotter, more sinful-looking package_ , Dean thinks. 

The sight of him laid out like a prize, relaxed and submissive, the outline of his bulge clear in his pants and the scent of his omega wetness in the air, is doing all sorts of crazy things to Dean’s loins. He can feel his dick swelling and tenting his boxer shorts, a drop of precum forming on the tip.

There’s also a vulnerability and softness in Sammy’s eyes that melts Dean’s insides. So he does what any self-respecting alpha in his right mind would do at seeing his omega looking so pliant and obedient, he shrugs out of his shirt, pushes down his shorts, and jumps on the bed naked, molds himself to Sam from head to cock, lowers his mouth to his and starts ruthlessly kissing like it’s going out of fashion.

Dean doesn’t know if one can love someone too much, but it feels this way sometimes with Sam—too much and consumingly. They’re both hard, and the hitching of their breaths and churning sound of their tongues as they lick each other’s lips are all what can be heard in the room.

Dean continues to ravish and plunder his mother’s warm and tender mouth until Sam, breathless, pushes Dean away gently, and tells him with a voice that’s hoarse with desire that their friends are waiting for them to come down and lend a hand. “‘Sides, I need to make the icing for your cake,” he adds with a small smile.

“Wait, you wanna leave me like this, rock hard without so much as touching me?” says Dean, pulling back to let Sam catch a breath. “On my birthday of all days? You’re heartless, Sammy.” Dean says mockingly as he uses a hand to rub one of Sam’s voluptuous, warm breasts through his shirt.

“How do you want to get off, baby?” Sam whispers, his pupils dilated from lust, and lips kiss-swollen and red. Dean shivers (and vaguely wonders if there’s a catch to Sam’s obedience. His blood-deprived brain doesn’t linger in this space, however).

Right now, Sam feels less like Dean’s mother and more like his loving wife and Dean wants to freeze the moment. Stay together like this and let the rest of the world carry on without them.

“First, these clothes? I want them off.”

“Hmm, I think this can be arranged,” Sam says, moisture shining on his lips and a playful smile tugging at them. Dean bends down and licks them, can’t resist. He plunges his tongue inside, exploring every inch of Sam’s mouth. Then he pulls back, and places a trail of kisses along Sam’s jaw, nuzzles his neck and bites his earlobe playfully. Unable to stop, he circles back to Sam’s impossibly soft, cherry-red lips, kissing them once again, still can’t wrap his head around how malleable his mom is.

But hey, Dean’s not complaining.

He pulls away from the kiss but keeps his lips ghosting over Sam’s. “I wanna fuck you so bad," he says, voice rough.

“You know we can’t, De,” whispers Sam.

“Come on, Sammy. We both want it,” Dean whispers back, lips brushing against Sam as he speaks.

His mom doesn’t respond, just locks their lips together again, and holds Dean closer, running his hands through his son’s short hair and tugging it. Dean kisses back with the same force.

A kiss, as passionate as it may be, is not exactly consent and Dean doesn’t want to send his mom running off, so he curbs his desire once again, and decides to settle for his current winnings.

Sam breaks the kiss for a second, and in a voice so hypnotizing and with a deep flush coloring his cheeks, asks, “You wanna fuck my tits?”

Dean is so maddeningly aroused, it takes his mind a second to realize Sam is actually offering this. His mom is watching his reaction, pretty bottom lip caught tight between his own teeth and the small lip action is porn-like despite the doe-eyed innocence of Sam’s face.

Dean doesn’t respond in words. He doesn’t even bother with the buttons, just tugs on Sam’s shirt, and throws it off.

He spends a few seconds too long staring at Sam’s pert breasts, saliva gathering behind his teeth at their sight — his nipples are erect, like they’re begging for attention, and his areolae are perfectly rosy. Sam starts arching his back and pinching his slutty nips, tugging until they become wet with milk. Dean once spied on him doing the same thing for Castiel, and in a split second, Dean's world keels over, an ugly knot forms in his stomach, and it feels like all his blood is rerouting and rushing there.

Sam does this for his dad too; Castiel has had all his firsts, kissed him and touched him everywhere, still does, and it always feels like Dean’s getting the sloppy seconds. _Does Sammy writhe in his dad’s arm like this too, make eyes at him, and beg with his body just like he’s doing with Dean now?_

Dean is suddenly trembling with jealousy, pupils narrowing and his eyes clouding over. Sam immediately registers his son’s distress.

“Dean,” he whispers, worry worming its way into his fast beating heart. Dean withdraws, sitting back on his haunches between Sam’s spread thighs, and looks away.

“It’s not fair that dad gets to see you like this too,” he says and the words flow like acid through Sam’s veins. It’s the sincerely solemn, dark tone in which Dean says this that flattens him.

Sam doesn’t know what to say or how to defend himself against this. He gulps as he remembers all the things that he has been letting Castiel do to him lately to make up for his sinful longing for their son—things that would make Dean loathe him if he knew. A sudden sick surge of fear courses through Sam; what if Dean ever finds out that he now scenes with Cas, how Sam allows his hide to be whooped with a belt like property, how he obediently presents and lets his cunt get fake-raped to atone for a secret sin, how every time Sam submits, he takes his ego and burns it, how he cries and begs to be hit, kicked and pummeled, how he walks around sometimes with welts on his ass and bruises around his private parts, clothes hiding the scarlet marks from view — he does it for Cas, and for his own sanity, but in a way, Sam must admit that he does it for Dean too. Because otherwise, how can he give Dean anything? Without the penance, how can Sam excuse or stomach the transgressions, the cheating? What he does with Castiel isn't redemption but it balances the scales—or so he tells himself.

But Sam doesn’t mention any of this, of course. He doesn’t dare. His heart pounds in his throat and he stays tight-lipped, just staring up at his son—the unsaid words like bitter ash inside his mouth. In his mind, he is lost ... reduced to a whimpering mess.

“Do you also whore yourself out to dad like this every night while I sleep alone in my room, forgotten, desperate, dreaming of touching you?” Dean asks, voice tortured, his face pale, his eyes misty and it all feels so damn wrong, Sam thinks, considering how much he’s compromised to make Dean happy, at least for a little while.

“Do you touch yourself and talk dirty and make him watch? Huh, mom?”

Sam can’t have this. He can’t bear to watch Dean bleed for love in his embrace; wetness in his eyes and shoulders hunched in defeat. Not on his birthday, not when he's planning to send his boy away and poor Dean has no clue. Not when his son is so preciously young and in the first flush of love but aching. Not when, in reality, Sam feels like a whored-out wife when he’s with Cas, because it's not who he belongs to anymore. So Sam acts on impulse. He sits up a little, pulls Dean to him and roughly flips him over onto his back so Sam's on top. He might be an omega but he’s still bigger than his son and he’s the more experienced one between them. The element of surprise works in his favor too.

He straddles Dean's hips and his son stares up at him—lips parted, and eyes a little wide and darkening with arousal. Sam rapidly pushes his pants and briefs down in one swift movement and slumps forward awkwardly only for a second to push them down and off his feet. He sits himself back on Dean’s crotch, stark naked, hips grinding—his son’s hardness sliding sensually between his cheeks.

Sam lets himself fall forward and slots their lips together, kissing Dean frantically.

“It’s never been like that,” Sam says between kisses. His voice carries a resigned sympathy, his breaths are coming strong and Sam feels like he’s now tumbling off the edge of the precipice that he’s been scaling for years.

“I need you to see that. I'm begging you,” Sam whispers, raining open-mouthed kisses on his son’s spit-wet lips between words. Dean is groaning dirtily into his mouth.

They’re gloriously naked, burning hot, frotting as they lie on top of each other and as the lights flood the bedroom and the curtains remain wide open—voyeuring, nosey neighbors be damned.

There’s some commotion downstairs, echoes of Bobby’s gruff voice can be heard, but it all feels too distant to matter; like it’s happening in another world that Sam and Dean are not a part of. The universe is now reduced to where their sweaty bodies are touching. 

Sam reaches back with a hand and finally does what he’s been trying to avoid, seemingly forever. He holds onto Dean’s fat cock, and sits on it.

He walks straight into the flames; a human sacrifice to his beloved.

His ass, though wet is not stretched open enough, but Sam takes it, pushes and bears down, welcoming the pain and the impossible relief that comes with putting out. This is where he belongs, he thinks as he tries to fit Dean’s dick in him. His son howls like a wounded animal as his mom’s tight hole swallows his cock — his eyes squeezed shut, and lips bitten red.

“Don't you dare think that there is anyone, past or present, that I would put in front of you,” Sam says, sweating bullets, rolling his head back as he finally gives one last push and sinks all the way down, burying Dean’s dick to the hilt in his slick channel.

Sam rakes his hands through the tumble of his unkempt, now damp-with-sweat hair, rides out the sensation of fullness then very gingerly makes himself slump forward onto Dean’s chest.

He gasps as even the cautious movement pulls agonizingly at his furled center and sends a jolt of pain to the lowest point of his spine.

Dean is speechless, barely catching his breath and Sam can feel the tremors run through his son’s body, connected as they are.

But despite his shock, Dean manages to gently circle his arms around Sam and runs one hand up and down Sam’s spine as his mother adjusts to Dean’s size and girth, and as Dean himself adapts to the impossible pressure around his teenage alpha cock.

Sam rests his temple against Dean’s forehead, and stays like this for a short moment. He doesn’t move his head or open his eyes until he feels wetness against his cheeks. He pulls back and meets Dean’s eyes and he’s surprised to see that the wide orbs are filled with tears. Dean closes his eyes and they pour freely. His baby boy’s face is red. His cupid’s bow, sinuous lips are pursed and the adoring look in Dean’s misty eyes right before they closed and spilled their silent confession of undying love is everything.

Sam puts his mouth to work: licks the salty tears and starts kissing Dean’s face—his cheeks, lips, forehead, his freckled nose, and his eyelids. Sam already worships his son; if giving him this is the sacrifice Sam needs to make to prove it, so be it.

Sam feels dizzy, swimming in a whirlwind of need. His dick is hard and is poking Dean just above his navel, his asshole is pulsating around Dean’s cock, and he’s now trembling with the need to be fucked. He rolls and grinds his hips experimentally and it’s bliss just to feel Dean quiver so deeply inside of him. _Back in his guts._ His motherly instincts kick in, and strangely, suddenly, Sam has this cannibalistic urge to swallow Dean whole inside of his womb; pull his son back inside his body so that they become one again; force his son’s flesh and blood, his skin and being to merge with his own. The mental image is macabre, and feral, and possessive, and Sam is blinded with it for a few seconds before he grounds himself, sits up straight and starts riding Dean’s dick.

There’s no way that the voices they’re making are not traveling downstairs but neither of them seem to care at the moment. Let them hear. Let the entire neighborhood witness their erotic depravity and their unconventional, twisted feelings for each other.

Sam stays in charge and works himself up and down on Dean’s cock, starts slow then bounces himself fast and animalistic. Sam's dick sticks out of a thatch of dark pubic hair, swaying and bobbing and spitting precum on their skin and on the sheets as his movements become fast and jerky. 

Dean holds one of Sam’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and keeps his eyes locked with Sam’s. His other hand is flat on Sam’s tit, squeezing and fondling, coaxing wetness out of Sam’s engorged nipple as it jiggles under his palm. He is sucking oxygen in gulps, shakes with the effort to meet Sam thrust for thrust. He’s suddenly overwhelmed; can’t believe that he’s making love to Sammy. Dean can literally feel himself stuffing his mother to the brim, spilling precum right against his sweet spot as Sammy expertly sways and dances on his dick — dirty, slutty, whorish. _His whore now. Fucking finally._

Sam’s hole starts convulsing and his dick spills in ropey spurts. Makes a mess of both of them.

Spent, he tumbles forward into Dean’s waiting arms, head swimming and penis hot and pulsating.

Dean buries his face in Sam’s neck. It's arched as if in invitation and Dean doesn't fight the blind urge to fasten his mouth around his mom’s throat. He can hear his own heart pounding in his chest, languorous ecstasy coursing through his veins as his teeth press and dig into damp skin to bite and bruise, and his lips suck wetly in their wake to make amends.

This will leave a mark. Dean knows. And Sam lets it happen. 

His mom lifts his head and tilts it to look Dean squarely in the eyes, his hot breath burning Dean’s kiss-bruised lips. There's nothing but love in those eyes and Dean only has to lean in a little to claim his mother’s voluptuous mouth.

The kisses that follow are breath-stealing, all slurpy tongues and deep moans. Dean’s body jerks with his nearing climax, his toes curling and his back arching in a struggle to stave off his impending orgasm.

Somehow, his omega mom has managed to turn him into a writhing mess when he’s the one who’s actually doing the fucking.

There’s no one, _no one_ , like his Sammy.

Dean’s final thrusts are more frantic, out of sync, leaving his knees trembling and weak. There’s enough sense in his mind, however, to ask Sam, with his eyes, if he can spill inside and knot. Sam gets it and just slips off Dean’s prick, in silent response.

The rough slide almost sends Dean over the edge but he manages to reign himself in. The loss of Sam's tight heat is palpable.

Sam doesn't leave his son's cock unsheathed for long. He quickly turns around on his hands and knees, bends forward and folds himself like a pretzel, ass up and right in Dean’s face, then he tosses his hair and swallows Dean’s cock all the way down his throat until his nose hits the curls at the base.

Sam's balls are heavy and his knees are stretched wide apart, still straddling Dean's torso in a modified 69.

His mother's softening cock is very lightly, almost torturously brushing Dean’s abs, leaving a wet trail where it slips and slides. 

Dean wants to will his head to move so he can dip his tongue inside his mom’s asshole — sloppy wet, gaping in invitation, and winking enticingly—he really wants to. But his cock warmed inside Sam’s mouth can’t handle the maddening stimulation and his nostrils are catching the lingering scent of Sam's arousal. Sam squeezes his balls very lightly and Dean finally gives up and shoots his spunk inside Sammy’s slutty orifice while whimpering like the dying.

Sam dutifully swallows his new alpha's semen.

Only a couple of seconds later, Sam’s hole shudders and squirts beautifully—the explosion of slick soiling the back of Sam’s thighs and spraying Dean’s chest and his flushed cheeks, even catching in the sweep of Dean's long eyelashes. It’s easily the prettiest sight Dean has ever set his eyes upon; it’s like Sammy is peeing from his ass, except that omega slick is thick, sugar-sweet, its whiff like perfume to Dean’s alpha senses. 

Sam sighs and giggles around the flesh in his mouth; the quake of his laugh tickling Dean’s length and sending a flutter to his now-mushy insides.

Sam finally lets Dean’s over-sensitive dick slip from his mouth, covered in the slobber and cum that Sam didn’t swallow down or spit out. He presses an impossibly soft kiss to the center of Dean’s twitching head, right on the sensitive slit.

Dean’s whole body spasms, his penis still tingling and the afterglow of arousal sinking into his bones.

Sam just stays in his position, shoulders sagging, fingers splayed on the sheets, too tired to sit up or lift his head, still straddling Dean, with his ass presented.

His son, the overachiever, decides he still wants more and slots his lips over Sam’s wanton hole and starts slurping his abundant slick—shifting between lapping out Sam’s release, still coming in tiny globs, and stabbing his tongue inside, past Sam's loose rim, to coax out more.

Sam claws at the bed sheets and tries to crawl away, shifting his weight and moving off Dean in an attempt to escape the plundering of his basest part; over-stimulation making his flesh prickle and his toes curl. But the heat of Dean’s mouth doggedly follows, as if his son’s fiery lips are tethered to his easy, fucked-out hole. Entitled to own and prey on his man-pussy, even turn it inside out.

When Dean’s done french kissing his hole, the two lovers shift their positions and lie side by side, facing each other. The ease in which their mouths find each other repeatedly, lips melding like magnets, is a testament to how effortlessly they fit together.

The lush curve of Dean's lips tastes like Sam’s slick, and Sam’s mouth is slippery with the remains of Dean’s ejaculate, and it’s dirty, wrong, perfect.

The two continue to lick the insides of each other mouths insatiably, hands roaming over sweat-slick bodies like they haven’t just fucked each other sore.

Sam is the first to break away from the liplock, however, breathing deeply and heavily before he can manage to utter a single word. “I don’t care who else touches me, De,” and it’s the tail end of their earlier conversation, picks right where they left off, “this,” he says hoarsely, taking one of Dean’s hands and placing it flat against his chest, over his heart. “This belongs to you.”

Dean looks at where his hand is resting underneath Sam’s. Then his eyes flick to the mark he’d left earlier with his teeth, high on Sam’s neck; angry red, slowly dilating, obscene, like a brand. He slowly leans in and puts his lips to the soft fleshy part right beside where their hands are overlapping and intertwined. He touches his mouth feathers-soft to Sam’s skin and just lets it sit there.

It feels like a birthright to have Sammy like this, to give the man helpless orgasms, to penetrate his tender depths and make him swoon, lay claim to his heart and the most secret parts of his body and own the gushing fountain of delight between his legs.

Sam hugs Dean with his free arm, and Dean is content to keep his face smushed against his mother’s beautiful chest, his breath coming warm against Sam’s collarbone. He wants to stay like this until the Earth is upright again and he can get his sweeping emotions under control. His world is starting to swing open on a road that even Dean—as many times as he’d wished for this—doesn’t know where it leads to. So yeah, he needs a moment.

Sam kisses his forehead and whispers, “How about that shower now, De?” Dean hums contentedly against his chest, and smiles wide.

.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The party itself will be next chapter. Cue: sly-Rhonda, Cas-parents-drama, drunk-flirty-Benny, jealous-Dean, jealous-Sam, everybody is jealous basically, etc. This is where it all gets super messy and angsty again so brace yourselves. 
> 
> Hope this small chapter didn't disappoint, considering we've been building towards this moment for a while.
> 
> But hey, this is just the beginning. The trickle before the flood. 
> 
> Feedback is gold! Would love me some x


	25. - Dear readers -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a love letter masquerading as a warning.

 

> Dear (beautiful, loyal, gorgeous) readers,
> 
> Let me first thank you for the flood of love and support (Over 2000 kudos?! Wow. I'm truly humbled. Couldn't have dreamed this!).
> 
> I'd like to quickly reiterate that I don't warn for everything in this fic to avoid spoilers (and the tags have been reflecting this fact for close to a year now, in case you haven't noticed) so please always read at your own risk (and always remember that I love you and respect your choice to discontinue reading if you start feeling any discomfort as a result of reading this fic — because of kinks or subject matter or any triggers it might have).
> 
> I have already peppered the story with some warnings regarding sensitive content, and I have included a pretty exhaustive list of tags and notes, but I like to be safe and repeat this from time to time because I respect you so much and I don't want any of you to be triggered by any subject or issue that this story might address or touch upon (even at the expense of losing readers).
> 
> Although the fic has porn and smut, it's clearly not a light read, and several readers have more than once talked about how they have mixed feelings for the characters' choices, how they feel pained when one character or another gets hurt, and they sometimes question the morality of the whole set-up because sometimes _it feels too real._ I _always_ take it as a great compliment and perhaps a testament that I may be telling a good story after all, but I also don't take this kind of feedback lightly.
> 
> I'm fully aware that some people come to fanfic world and AO3 in particular to relax and have fun, and not to have their emotions torn apart or hearts broken. I understand this. Hence the repeated warnings.
> 
> **Bottom line** : If you're a sensitive reader and/or easily triggered, it's not too late to turn back. The plot will thicken, emotions will get tangled up more, hearts will break, your favorite character may get hurt and things will get even more complicated (the story is FAR from over). With this type of love triangle, please remember that not all characters will come out on top, and someone will end up getting hurt, if not all three (and we're already seeing it).
> 
> If you're looking for fluff and light SPN m/m romance, this is very obviously not the story for you (if it's not already clear, here I am stating it explicitly). If you're here for the feels (and sure, all the sex and erotic scenes) but also for the drama, the intensity and uneasy emotions, and if you can stomach grave situations and the possibility of tears and heartache, then you're on the right track and this is for you. There are no easy answers in this fic (sorry!).
> 
> Of course, I wish that everyone can read and enjoy it, but because I appreciate you so much, I'd rather lose readers then hurt their feelings in any way or form.
> 
> **Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for reading thus far. I hope I never, ever, ever disappoint you because frankly, I can't do this without you. You're truly the backbone of this story.** And I plan to continue writing it for a (pretty long) while. 
> 
> I'm back to writing this week and plan to update by mid-February at most, and I hope and pray that the new chapter meets expectations.
> 
> Much love,  
>  Jo xox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New juicy chapter coming up soonish! Stay tuned! And thanks again for bearing with me xox

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A return to love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650714) by [Joanna_Lee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanna_Lee/pseuds/Joanna_Lee), [lejf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf)




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